nine2five season 3
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Vivian Volkoff and the Triangulum join forces, as Team B goes on the warpath. Their first goal is to capture the Norseman, but that's only one small part of the long-laid plot known as Project Omaha.
1. Swamp Thing

**A/N** I think this season of nine2five will be written up as one long story, rather than as a series of episodes. I originally wrote the episode format because I thought the style of the various episodes differed, so I could specify appropriate genres as I needed to, but I doubt this season that will be the case. I also think I'll repost all the chapters of the previous two seasons in single stories as well. At least one commenter has suggested this as well, so the ayes have it.

I've seen a lot of criticism of the S4 finale, regarding the way they jumped from 'Chuck bringing the antidote' to 'the wedding', when the people doing the complaining wanted the scene of Sarah waking up and the rapturous reunion. While I doubt most people are as emotionally invested in Devon&amp;Ellie as they are in Chuck&amp;Sarah, I'm filling in that empty space from my last chapter.

* * *

"_What have you done to me, Charles?"_

"_I'm a little brother."_

"_We killed his _pregnant sister_, Mr. Riley!" _

"_Quinn, ma'am. Nicholas Quinn."_

* * *

"Congratulations, Dr. Winterbottom."

The voice was dull and flat, like a rusty saw, but it promised far more pain. Doug almost stopped, but the men he was running with turned at the sound of the voice, and an arm caught him on the back and pushed him on his way. Right. No stopping for him.

The group down the hall, family and more family, were already in motion, running toward the danger he was leaving behind. They parted around him and closed ranks behind him, leaving him with the other civilian, Dr. Woodcombe.

"Hey Doug, you all right?" said the annoyingly handsome heart surgeon, but it was hard to hold his looks against him when he was so genuinely nice.

Doug put a finger to his lips and pulled a tube from his pocket. Devon's eyes widened in amazement, but he lost no time pushing open the door so Doug didn't have to stop. Good reflexes. Having a family full of spies must do that to you. Together they ran to the room where Ellie was currently slowing to a stop, and Devon ran faster to make sure that door was open too.

"Here!" yelled Doug, to the doctor who was even now preparing trays of implements for emergency surgery. "About half, in the tube."

The doctor scanned the green liquid suspiciously. "Will it hurt the baby?"

"It shouldn't," puffed out Doug, not used to this much exertion. He pointed at the trays. "But that will certainly kill the mother."

The doctor looked at the next of kin.

"Do it," said Devon, far more accustomed to making decisions in highly uncertain conditions than he ever wanted to be. He watched as the doctor injected the contents of the syringe into the tube–too much? Not enough?–all the while drifting closer to Ellie's side, taking her hand in his. So pale, so cold. _Come on, babe._

"Vitals are stabilizing."

Ellie took a deeper breath. Her hand squeezed his slightly, and she moaned.

"Temperature is rising."

"Places, people," said the obstetrician. "The baby's our priority now."

* * *

"What do you mean, you lost him?" snarled Decker. "We need that pathetic geek to keep Volkoff in line."

"This guy wasn't a geek, Mr. Decker," said Tommy, as incapable of sounding sorry as he did being kind. "They must have slipped in a ringer on us, he took down four guys before I could move."

"That damn Bartowski," said Decker. "He's clever. Probably has Winterbottom in some hole under Washington by now. We'll never find him in time." They had a number of fall-back positions to choose from, and Decker chose. "We'll have to escalate."

* * *

"She's beautiful," whispered Ellie, her body weaker than her voice as Devon held up her child for her to see.

"Just like her mother," he said as Ellie yawned. "Rest easy, babe. I'll hold the fort this time."

"You hold the fort, I'll hold my granddaughter," said Mary, sitting in the rocker with her arms outstretched. Devin was quick to surrender his new baby girl. El was already out of it, and this Mama B was more Bear than Bartowski.

The door banged open, and two figures in green scrubs came through. "Chuck, will you just let me get this damn thing tied off…?" said the new grandfather.

"I want to see."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "You uncles today. Devon, a little help?"

"Whoa, Chuckster," said Devon, catching sight of Chuck's hands, the reason his father was tying the strings on his scrubs. They'd gotten most of the fragments out, and rinsed off the fake antidote, but the wounds were still oozing blood. "Let's get you cleaned up, dude. No baby-holding with _those_ hands." He pulled Chuck over to a chair as Stephen went to stand by his wife. "Sit." He put a towel on Chuck's knees to keep the blood off the floor, went to the door and asked the nurse for a suture tray.

"Where's Sarah?" said Devon as he sat and adjusted the light to do a visual scan.

"Went after Hartley," said Chuck absently, watching his Mom and his Dad with his niece, all the new people in his family in one place. Ellie was down but the lights and beeps told him she wasn't out yet. He felt…_blessed_, he felt–pain! "_Ah_."

"Looks like you missed a piece," said Devon as the nurse brought in the tray, setting up a table for him. She also had some latex gloves and a mask. "Thanks," said Devon. "I'll call you if I need you." He waited until she left, his fingers treating the wounds automatically as he asked about what really mattered to him. "What happened out there?"

Chuck winced as the last fragments came out. "Bad guys after Hartley. When he came down with the antidote, they jumped him and Dad. Hartley pretended to have the antidote and I fell for it, and the bad guy crushed the tube in my hands." He stared at his hands, struggling to hold on to that feeling of peace as it slipped away. "I felt like he'd crushed Ellie, because of me. He wanted me to live with that."

"Hey, relax, Chuck," said Devon, as the fingers he was treating started to clench. "You guys won. You tricked them, you beat them, and they don't even know it." When the fingers relaxed he went back to work. "What was in the tube?" he asked, both to get Chuck's mind on to some other topic, and because he was concerned about contamination.

"Saline," said Stephen from across the room, his attention still seeming focused on the baby. "Mixed with a green antiseptic."

_Good ears. _"Good idea." Not that Devon didn't put on a new batch of antiseptic anyway, but this one was red. "Doesn't look like you'll need stitches, at least. A few strips, maybe tape 'em for good measure, you should be good to go, as long as you take it easy with the fisticuffs and the typing."

_Um…_"Devon, you do know what I do for a living, right?"

* * *

Manoosh sat in the lab, watching Chuck's video presentation. No one had stayed to see the end, but it was his favorite part. The whole thing was about Ellie, because Chuck was all about Ellie. Some of his best music in there, but no one heard it, because Ellie…

He flipped a switch, and the whole thing died.

_She'd_ almost died, and her baby with her, and if it had been up to him she would have died, he was so useless. He made the lights twinkle, while Chuck rode to the rescue. Again.

Suddenly he couldn't stand to just sit anymore. He jerked to his feet, the sudden motion propelling his chair across the room, where it slammed into a cabinet, and Manoosh turned at the noise. The cabinet door opened and a box fell out, but he was too slow to catch it before it fell to the floor.

"No!" he whined, snatching it up. "Please don't be broken! Please don't be broken!" He opened the box and unwrapped the bubble wrap, checking the lenses for cracks, the earpieces for any obvious damage. Nothing obvious, and he breathed easier. These things were expensive.

Yeah.

Expensive.

_I should check them out._ He nodded to himself at this sage advice. He didn't need Ellie to tell him his business. Maybe he was stuck fixing moisture vaporators, or fixing X-Wings so someone else could fly them and blow up Death Stars and get all the great girls, but…um…_where was I?_

He looked at his hands. Right. Glasses. He should check them out.

* * *

John Casey tried to run, but there was no place to go, nowhere to hide. "How do you hold it?" he asked, as Devon held out his little girl.

"It's a 'her', John, not an 'it'," he said with a laugh.

Casey glanced around at all the people catching this travesty on video. Payback, that's what it was, for recording that CAT-fight in Prague for Sarah. He acquiesced with a grunt, pretty high-numbered on Chuck's list since he didn't use it often. At least they could be trusted not to put it on the Internet.

"Come on, John," said Devon, pulling his attention back to the center. "Just imagine that this is Alex." He gestured toward the bed where Ellie lay. "Imagine that that's _her_ mother, uh…"

"Kathleen," said Casey. She'd been Alex Coburn's fiancée but Alex Coburn was dead. Died in childbirth, after a fashion. Never married his fiancée. Never held his daughter, or been a father to her. He wondered what Alex had been like as a girl, as a child. He looked at his hands, his empty hands. He had a daughter but he would never have a child.

"Right," said Devon, his voice low. "That's Kathleen over there, exhausted. This is her child, _your_ child, that the nurses have wrapped up warm and placed in your hands." Devon put his child in Casey's hands.

They came up automatically to hold her, one arm underneath, one on the outside as Casey held her to his chest. "Hey, my girl," he whispered to her. He reached out a finger to stroke her cheek and stopped, the spell broken. "I can't do this," he said suddenly, turning to Carina and depositing Clara in her surprised arms.

"Wait, what am _I_ supposed to do with it?" she asked his back as he headed for the door.

"Casey, what's the matter?" asked Chuck, lowering his phone as Devon moved to put Carina's hands in the correct places.

Casey stopped by the door and held up his hands. "I don't want the first thing that little girl smells to be the stink of gunpowder all over me. And Miller!" He pointed. "She's a 'her', not an 'it'. Treat her like one." He pushed through the doors and vanished.

Carina looked at Devon. "We stink of gunpowder?"

"Yeah, kind'a," he said apologetically.

Carina pushed back, leaving the child with her father. "I have to go change."

Devon stood there as the doors closed a second time, confused. "Devon?" said Mary, holding out her arms. Always ready to do her duty.

"My turn," said Sarah suddenly. She sat up straight in her chair and held out her arms. Mary sat back, not entirely displeased. She reached up and caught Stephen's hand where it rested on her shoulder, content to look on.

"Awesome!" said Devon, placing Clara gently in her new aunt's arms. Sarah folded them naturally and expertly into a safe and supportive position. Devon beamed. "Somebody was paying attention."

* * *

Hartley Winterbottom strolled out of the haberdashery in fine form. The clothing would take a little getting used to, a far cry from his tailored power suits. Stranger still were the newly and expertly applied mustache and goatee, which he was unable to resist stroking from time to time. New laptop in hand, he sought out an Internet café, there to set up the next phase of his plan. No one would expect him to be retracing Volkoff's footsteps, but walking over them was the only way to erase them forever.

* * *

Casey went downstairs, freshly showered and smelling not at all like gunpowder, when he heard his phone buzz with the sound of a voicemail message. Alex. Must be back from that graduation trip Grimes took her on.

He called back but got her voicemail too. "Alex, it's Dad. Sorry I haven't been available lately. Ellie delivered today, so we're all at the hospital. You know how they are about cell phones. Stop by, we'll catch up."

* * *

"What do you mean I missed?"

"Exactly what I said, Quinn," replied Decker. "Not only did your assault on Agent Miller's position fail, your own attack on Agent Rizzo did nothing except draw Agent Charles into the mix. Sooner or later they'll pull the matter off the back burner and realize it was you." Decker may have needed Quinn, but he wasn't about to let Quinn know that.

Quinn frowned at the schadenfreude in the other man's tone, but sucked it up. He'd lost all his men in that attack, and he still didn't know how Miller got away. Didn't know how she'd twigged to him in the first place, or would have, if his little virus in the CIA's Racial Rec programming hadn't done its job. Even so his failure to protect his clients had hurt him badly, damaged his reputation, and only the fact that he'd lost to Volkoff and Walker together kept him afloat. No one could beat Volkoff, until suddenly Agent Charles did, and he had Walker in his corner too.

What Quinn wouldn't give to have a soldier like Walker in his organization, not that he had an organization now. All he had were definite enemies, and possible allies. Time to swallow his pride. "What are you offering?"

* * *

"Vail?" asked Casey, sitting with the baby while Chuck and Sarah were out getting some food. Alex was taking pictures, lots of pictures. "I didn't know they made skis with training wheels, Grimes."

"Ho, ho," said Morgan, deadpan, theatrically wiping his eyes. "My sides. No, Casey, that would be training _skids_, but I didn't go to Vail to ski, I went to Vail to be skeen. That…sounded better in my head."

Casey grunted agreement. "Should'a kept it there."

"Alex was a natural on the slopes," Morgan said enthusiastically, always willing to change topics. "Left me behind on the bunny slopes that first day, but that was okay, 'cause then I was the tallest, well, except for the instructor."

"You let your girlfriend parade around the slopes of Vail with top-notch celebrity ski instructors while you hung around the kiddie pool?" Casey looked down. Less than a day old and asleep, and Clara was still clearly more sensible than that.

"Of course not," scoffed Morgan. "Once I mastered the bunny slope I went shopping, found some really good places to eat, but the prices, oh man…" He rolled his eyes.

So did Casey, probably not for the same reason. "Grimes–"

"It was _fine_, Dad," said Alex, although she really would have preferred to have Morgan around. Make her relationship status as obvious as it needed to be, for all those celebrity ski instructors, every one of whom _knew_ they were a celebrity and acted accordingly. "I got bored. I found Morgan in a sandwich shop, making a deal on some food in exchange for the recipe." She smiled. What a scrounger.

Somehow 'making a deal' sounded less than totally honorable the way she said it. "I have a reputation to uphold," said Morgan. "You can't find the best places in town to eat for under ten dollars when everything costs more than ten dollars, so I had to strike a bargain. This was a matter of principle."

Cheapskate. "Yeah, you're a real hero."

"Oh, so close." Morgan help up a hand, fingers an inch apart. "But no, a totally different sandwich. I was spreading the gospel of my favorite menu item from my Buy More days, turkey and muenster on egg bread, grilled."

"Sounds good," said Casey. As long as it wasn't K-rations, it was good to Casey.

"You bet," said Morgan. "That deli guy was selling 'em like hotcakes by the time we left, best deal he ever made. Of course, it didn't hurt that I was talking it up all over town."

"_All_ …over," said Alex.

"Hey, I was networking," said Morgan. "Those high-rollers come to DC a lot, they gotta eat somewhere, right?"

"Grimes–"

"Dad–"

* * *

"Chuck?"

"What?"

Sarah handed off the bags with the food to her mother-in-law so she could hold her husband. "You're spiraling."

He hugged her back, something his damaged hands were up to. "She could have died, Sarah. Clara could have died too."

"The Norseman would have ignored Clara, Chuck," said Mary.

"It should have ignored _Ellie_, shouldn't it? She wasn't the target." _She should never be a target. _"But she was standing next to me and the Norseman found her. She shouldn't even have been there."

Mary got a strange look on her face. "Say that again."

"She shouldn't even have been there."

"No," said Mary. "Before that. She was standing next to you."

* * *

One thorough physical examination later…

Beckman stared at the slim little needle, blown up to several times its actual size on the monitor. "A fourth tracker?"

"Yes, General," said Sarah. "If it's Vivian's she'd have known where he was ever since she put it into him."

"Which was when?"

"Given its size, shape, and likely power consumption and other parameters," said Chuck, putting those figures up in print too small to read, "We suspect the day Vivian gave us the first piece of the Norseman. The supposed attack on her would have made an excellent distraction."

"She killed her own men?" asked Hannah.

"Probably the biggest bunch of losers in her entire guard cadre," said Casey, unconcerned with that little detail. "It would explain how she knew we were in Switzerland when even Orion couldn't know we would be there."

"More to the point it gave her a general direction to aim the Norseman, without ever needing to know exactly where I was. Either the lab or my house, and then wait to see if the tracker went to a hospital."

"Which it did," said Carina.

"So she may think you're dead."

"Or not," said Sarah. "You went after Hartley, remember?"

Chuck wasn't likely to forget, after she tore strips out of him for using the Nighthawk to do it. "A possibility," he admitted. "Unless she stopped tracking after the signal reached the hospital in the first place. The Norseman is supposed to be one hundred percent accurate. Clearly it isn't but Vivian may not know that."

"I'm unwilling to risk your life on that possibility, Agent Bartowski."

"Neither are we, General," said Sarah, with a hefty dose of gratitude. "But it does give us a window of opportunity. We've found the tracker, we have a cure. I say we take the war to her."

* * *

Ellie woke to the sound of somebody talking.

"…And that is how the Frost Queen came back to her family," said Mary as Clara sucked on a bottle of sweetened water. "And she never left them ever again. Good story?" She felt Clara's body stiffen. "Good story. She even took care of the baby's first poop, which really stinks, but you won't read about that in any of the stories."

"That bad, huh?" asked Ellie.

"Hey," said Mary softly, with a joyous smile. "You're just in time."

"For stinky baby poop?" asked Ellie in dismay.

"Level four biohazard," said Mary. "I'll take care of it, but remind your husband he owes me."

"Where is Devon?"

"Getting some rest, I hope," said Frost from across the room. "Between the Norseman, the antidote to the Norseman, the delivery, and the post-delivery, he really wore himself out."

"I thought they were afraid she'd use the Norseman against Chuck." She waved a hand in front of her nose. "Oh my God."

Mary slid the biohazard into a containment unit and double-knotted the bag, holding her breath all the while. "She did, we think, but for some reason it affected you instead. Well, the part that you and Chuck have in common, I guess, which may be why you're alive…"

"Is Chuck all right?"

"Right as rain, and off to war," said Mary, lifting her newly-wrapped granddaughter from the change-table, and brought her to mommy. "He and Sarah convinced the General to send them out after Vivian directly, and the General was smart enough not to try and stop them. This team loves you."

Ellie frowned, even as she held her daughter for the first time. "Well, that's ridiculous, Sarah can't go to war, not in her condition."

Mary's good mood evaporated. "What condition?" Not that damned Atroxium again.

"She's pregnant," said Ellie. "I saw it in the telemetry before you ever got there. I told you all…" She tried to think back to that time, but the memories were fuzzy. "Didn't I?"

* * *

**A/N2 **Guess they'd better win this war quickly, then.

I wanted to bring the pregnancy up in the last chapter of the last episode, but that's not what the story wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** I had to go back to Bearded Bandit for some of the introductory material on Verbanski, but otherwise I'll be filling in the spaces in Chuck vs the Kept Man.

* * *

"_The baby's our priority now." _

"_How do you hold it?" _

"_She was standing next to you."_

"_Sarah can't go to war, not in her condition."_

* * *

In the maternity ward…

"Miami?" said Ellie, watching Carina like a hawk. "What's in Miami?"

"Not me," said Carina, staring at the baby in her arms. Arm. Had to keep a hand free. "I wouldn't even know they were there, except that they had to tell me why I wasn't going with them."

"So why is that?"

Carina stroked the baby's cheek gently. "This."

"My daughter's face?"

"Faces in general, m_y_ face in particular. Whoever they're going after, it's someone who knows me."

"You _are_ memorable," said Ellie.

_Thank you. _"True, but most of the people who'd care are in jail now," said Carina. "That narrows the suspect pool a bit." She focused on Clara, to prevent her mind from narrowing it further.

The door banged open. "They've gone dark al–" said Mary. She stopped short when she saw Carina, tranq pistol in one hand, feet ready to strike, deadly focused glare, and waayyy on the other side of her, a baby who was beginning to squirm at the sudden shift in position. "Sorry. Good reflexes, though." She came forward to take Clara, so Carina could put her weapons away.

"Thanks. Why is them being dark a problem?" asked the redhead, as Mary returned the infant to her mother.

"There's a strong possibility Sarah could be pregnant," said Mary.

"I saw a third pulse in my monitors," said Ellie. "Much too fast to be hers or Chuck's. Could be a fetus."

_Let's hear it for high tech. _"Crap, they've gone hunting for bear," said Carina.

"And we have no way to warn them," said Ellie.

Yes she did. "I'll be joining them after Miami."

"It's Miami I'm worried about," said Mary. "You can't go there. None of us can."

'Us' meaning 'CIA', and no, they couldn't. Tagalongs, they had to be. On whose op? Her mind started narrowing down the suspect pool again and this time she let it. "I have to make a phone call," she said, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."

* * *

"Anybody wanna tell me what we're doing in Miami?" asked Casey, already getting a headache from all the women in bikinis he was keeping his eyes averted from, and that was just the airport. Didn't any of these people know it was winter? "And it had better be mission-related." How could he check six when they were everywhere?

"Trust me, Casey, I want to see you in a Speedo even less than you want to be seen in one," said Chuck, doing his best to check six on Casey's behalf.

"Can't say _I'd_ mind," said Sarah, nudging her husband in the ribs. "All the skimpy outfits I've had to wear over the years, be nice to be on the looking-and-leering end for a change."

"You'd leer?" asked Chuck. He took a deep breath to check if she'd cracked anything.

"Okay, probably not," said Sarah, once she actually got around to imagining Casey in a Speedo. Almost. She got as far as visualizing him shirtless. "But it's not about doing it, it's about having the opportunity."

Lecherous female agents were worse than the lecherous males, in Casey's experience. They got fewer opportunities. Which reminded him…"Heh. You should meet Gertrude," he said, under his breath.

Sarah once heard Chuck's mother over an airplane's engine and a roaring wind, she had no problem with Casey's mutter. "Really, Casey? Gertrude who?"

"No one."

"That didn't sound like a 'no one', Casey," said Chuck, backing up his wife as he always would.

"Let me rephrase that, Bartowski," said Casey. "She's no one you'd want to meet. Verbanski, Gertrude Verbanski. Former KGB, took her act on the road after the Soviet Union collapsed. She's gone up against every major intelligence outfit there is and come out on top. She'd give Agent Charles a run for his money."

"I think you like her."

"I think you sound like a six-year-old. I went up against her in Minsk, in 1995. She still has my gun." Casey didn't like people who took his guns.

"Went up against her, eh?" repeated Chuck with a lot of wink-wink, nudge-nudge in his voice.

"Sarah, try those ribs again, harder."

"I don't know, Casey," said Sarah, "He does seem to have a point."

"What he has, is his head up his…" Grunt. Deep breath. "I was merely expressing professional admiration for a professional who acts professionally. Unlike some spies I could mention."

"Whoa, you guys are spies?" asked a passing tourist.

"No, he was just talking about that TV show with the spies in Miami," said Chuck. Maybe there was one.

"Oh," said the tourist, disappointed, with a strong hint of 'whatever'. "TV spies."

"Good job, Mr. Professional," said Sarah after they got some privacy again.

"Come on, Sarah," said Chuck, as Casey stewed in it. "It's good for the cover. Clearly _we_ can't be professional spies, not if we get caught out like that."

They walked on in silence, just three more tourists, a bit overdressed.

"Anybody wanna tell me what we're doing in Miami?" said Casey.

* * *

Later, in their hotel room, professionally swept for bugs, and listening devices too…

"Here you go, Casey. Rocky Falcone," said Chuck, plopping a file with the man's picture and other vital details on the table. "Killed his way to the top of Miami's illegal arms trade."

Some local yahoo. Casey couldn't have cared less. "So? That's ATF business."

"Not anymore."

"Watch yourself, Bartowski," said Casey. "There are rules to this game. Don't become Volkoff while you're destroying her."

Chuck smiled. "Not my plan, Casey, but thanks for your concern. Thanks to Vivian's consolidation of the illegal arms trade, we have quite a few agencies getting into the interdiction business."

Casey sneered at the whole idea. "New faces won't go over so well. Dealers will spot them in a second, be all kinds of suspicious."

"Of new faces, yes."

"So we hit them with old faces," said Sarah, catching on. "Familiar faces, with perhaps a few new advisers in the background."

"I was thinking 'muscle' , but 'advisers' works too," said Chuck.

"Doesn't make it legal," said Casey.

"No, but the FBI does. They'll be the ones running the op. We're just along for the ride." He checked his watch. "Or we would be, if there was a ride to be along on. We were all supposed to be here early, get established as guests, but I don't know what's holding them up."

Someone knocked on the door, and Chuck clapped his hands together. "That should be them now."

* * *

"Hello, John."

John drew himself up stiffly. "Miss Verbanski."

"What, no kiss for an old flame?"

Casey grunted, and turned to meet Gertrude's FBI liaison as Gertrude went on to meet his partners.

"Colonel Casey," she said.

"Alex?"

Verbanski turned at the familiarity. "A little young for you, isn't she, John?"

He gave her a dark look. "I knew her father." He turned back to his daughter. "What are you doing here?"

"Field experience."

"You're going in with us?"

Alex looked unhappy. "Unfortunately not." She waved a hand around her face. "Too recognizable. I'll be stuck in here while you guys get to do all the hands-on stuff."

_Thank God_. "That's too bad. Still, this is a high-profile op–" maybe it wasn't before but it sure as hell was now "–your father would be proud. Especially babysitting this one." He jerked a thumb at Gertrude. "She's a brat."

"I thought I was the one doing the babysitting," said the brat.

Casey smirked at her. "For Agent McHugh? I don't think so. She'll staple you to the wall if you go off script."

"I left my nail gun back at the office," said Alex.

"This is Miami, buy a new one."

"Speaking of scripts…?" asked Chuck, trying to get the meeting back on track. "Miss Verbanski…" Chuck waited a beat, expecting a polite invitation to use a less formal mode of address. Gertrude sat silently and waited. "Ahem, Casey was just telling us about you."

Gertrude went still. "You knew I was coming?"

"No, not at all," said Chuck anxious to reassure her that the op hadn't been blown already. "We were talking about uh, swimwear, actually, and one thing led to another…"

"Really?" She glared at Casey. "You told them about that?"

"I didn't _tell_ them anything," said Casey. "But I was thinking about _after_ that."

"Oh, _that_ 'that'." She looked Casey up and down, with a smile. "You remembered."

Casey shuddered.

Chuck watched, wide-eyed, until he received a Casey-style death-glare. "Um, he also told us you're in the, um, private security business?" Polite spy-talk for 'mercenary'.

"Verbanski Corp. has three hundred agents worldwide. CIA, KGB, Mossad, Interpol. We've worked for both the Pentagon and the Kremlin."

That sounded like a sales pitch. "Ah. So when Casey said you took your act on the road, he really meant that you'd bought the road and were charging tolls."

Gertrude gave Casey another glance. "Not all of it."

* * *

"Dad, what's going on?" asked Alex as they took a break, a few hours later. She and her father's friend Col. John Casey were out on the balcony for some private time.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his glass held so no one could read his lips from a mile away.

"I was in a cubicle this morning, going over some case studies, when they dragged me into an office and handed me this assignment. I don't even know what I'm doing here."

Casey knew. One of the original reasons for sanctioning their marriage, aside from the suicidal idiocy of denying the CIA's top assassin something she really really wanted, was that Chuck's main bodyguard would be there without having to assign anyone to the job. Alex would liaise with Team Bartowski for pretty much the same reason, but he'd let her figure that part out for herself. Field experience. "Didn't sound it."

"They gave me the other agent's notes. Since when do you go after gun-runners?"

"Since the world's biggest arms dealer almost killed my partner's sister, and he's a Special Agent." Casey shrugged. "I would have gone for the direct approach."

"That would just rally her newly-acquired troops around her." Direct frontal assaults will do that.

On the plus side, it would save him the trouble of hunting them down. "Chuck said the same thing. He's going for a divide-and-conquer strategy."

Alex considered it. "She's got the Volkoff brand going for her, but some of those ambitious underlings have to be wondering if she's up to it. She's only a woman, you know. In Russia."

"Is that why Gertrude's here?"

"Gertrude is here because Gertrude wants to be here, and if there's one thing I've learned about that woman, it's that whatever she wants, she gets." Alex looked past Casey into the room, and saw Gertrude staring at Casey, while Chuck poured drinks all around. She went pale. "Sorry, dad, I have to go."

Casey followed, curious.

* * *

One home (or hotel room) pregnancy test later…

Chuck sat in shock. "I'm sorry I was such a clueless, ignorant husband, Sarah."

Sarah took his hand. "Don't be silly, Chuck. I can't blame you for not picking up that I might be pregnant when I missed all the signs myself."

"But I should have. My life is all about you."

Sarah leaned in close, leaning her head on his shoulder. "And mine's all about you."

"Exactly!" He had no free hands, otherwise he would have flung them about in exasperation. "I wouldn't expect you to notice that you're pregnant, but how can I make all that food and miss the fact that you're starving all the time? And the salads?"

"And that awful, awful pizza."

"Hey, that pizza was good, I told you that."

"It's changing!"

Chuck lifted the test stick. "I'm seeing a plus sign. Are you seeing a plus sign?"

Sarah saw a plus sign. She lifted the instructions, checking the output section. "That's a positive."

Chuck lowered his hand. There must have been something wrong with the stick, it was shaking. "Oh, God. We just declared war." Vivian and the Norseman, she had to have some of Sarah's DNA available, right? _How can I get Sarah to stay away from the front line?_ Maybe they could still call back the messenger, no, that would never work, they'd have to track him down first…

"Well," said Sarah slowly, her mind sluggish. "We'll just have to win it quickly." _No way I'm staying off the front line._

Someone pounded on the bathroom door. "Charles! Chow time."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in DC…

Morgan Grimes made his rounds, the favorite parts of his day. He still loved kitchen work, and occasionally he would doff the jacket and don the chef's coat for a meal or two, just to keep his hand in and his skills fresh. He was at heart a people person, though, and seeing the happiness that his staff brought to their customers was his special managerial privilege.

He flashed a glance at the secure booth, and found it occupied. _Yes._ He'd told his boss that a booth where private really did mean private would be a good investment. Chuck told him once that the word in Washington was that when you had an op laid on, there were only two places you could be, in your office of in that booth.

He recognized the red bun of Chuck's boss easily enough, but her companion wasn't the white-haired smooth-talker she usually came in with. He went over to pay his respects, knocking at the outermost panel to alert the occupants, giving them time to stop talking about delicate topics.

Or not. "–some clueless newbie stepping all over my operation, dammit!" The man broke off his sentence at Morgan's appearance by the booth.

General Beckman was more experienced. "Good evening, Mr. Grimes. I don't believe you've met Agent Johnson, of the FBI?"

Agent Johnson offered his hand. "If I have to commandeer any of your staff, I'll try to let you know."

Morgan grinned, and matched him quote for quote. "I thought you at the FBI did not have a sense of humor that you were aware of."

"We don't."

"Oh." Morgan's smile froze over. He withdrew his hand, wiping it against his lapel as he unnecessarily straightened his suit coat. "Well…okay then. I'll just…leave you to your meal. Agent," he nodded politely. "General."

* * *

At the Maya, after the meet…

"To the happy couple," said Gertrude. Glasses clinked all around, wine to scotch to wine to water. Chuck followed it up with a kiss, determined to make _this_ evening a happy one. She smiled as he pulled back, equally determined.

"I must say I'm a bit surprised, though," said Verbanski. "I would have thought a pair of spies of your reputation would have taken better precautions. I'm not getting the impression that this was deliberate."

"It wasn't…exactly," said Chuck.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Charles?" said Casey. "'Not exactly deliberate' sounds like 'almost pregnant', and I think we can all agree that there's no 'almost' involved here."

"Chuck promised me children years ago, Casey, you know that," said Sarah, putting down her glass of water.

"Why would you do that?" asked Gertrude.

"Um…" said Chuck, eyes boggled.

"It was on my terms, not his," said Sarah.

"She's not like us, Gertrude," said Casey. "Not anymore. Chuck broke the CIA's best agent, made her into a real girl, and now she wants to go play Leave It to Beaver."

"I'm not the only one," said Sarah, staring at him.

"Really, John? Is that true?" said Verbanski. "You do seem…different."

"No," said Casey. "I'm a patriot now, I was a patriot then. You were…whatever you were paid to be, then _and_ now."

"I was a start-up," said Gertrude. "It's hard to be picky about your clients when you have to make payroll. I'm a lot more choosy now." Her arm moved.

Suddenly Casey stiffened by her side.

Gertrude ignored it, addressing Chuck and especially Sarah, "So. An opportunity arose and you took it?" She sounded approving. Casey grunted, trying to move away. "I'm a big believer in taking advantage of opportunities whenever they present themselves."

Sarah toyed with her glass. "Honestly, I, erm, don't remember. I'd been poisoned, I wasn't thinking straight."

"We counted back, Casey. Near as we can figure, it was the night she was waiting for me in Prague."

"When she pushed me out the window? She wasn't–You weren't thinking at all, Charles."

Gertrude leaned closer. "You pushed him out the window?"

Sarah remembered the glass breaking. "I guess so. I don't know why. All I can remember is being so angry…"

"I can understand that." Gertrude looked at Casey. "So it's not just me you have that effect on. What did you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything," said Casey. "I wasn't even in the room. I came to get Chuck for a mission to England, and there she was."

"Maybe you should have asked more politely."

"Who asked? I just gave him the old 'rise and shine'." Casey pounded the table three times. "Charles! Rise and shine! Time to–"

Suddenly Sarah was in his face, hands curled on his collar. Something liquid spilled into Casey's lap as glass shattered.

The move caught Chuck by surprise. "Um, sweetie…"

Sarah didn't hear him. "He…was…_sleeping_!"

"Sarah?" said Chuck, putting a hand on her arm. "People are staring."

"Leave us alone!"

Casey reached up and gripped Sarah's wrists, pulling them away from his shirt. "Get a hold of yourself, Walker."

He released her, and Sarah sank back into her chair, resting her aching head on her hands. "I hated you, Casey. Hated. You were everything that was wrong in my life, and Chuck was the only thing that was right."

"He still is, but I'm not," said Casey.

"I'm sorry."

Grunt #1. "Just stop being so emotional, we'll call it even."

"Shut up."

* * *

Later that night, at Falcone's private range…

"I don't want your money."

Verbanski looked startled. "That's three million dollars in cash," she said, pointing to the large silver case as if Falcone had somehow managed to overlook it.

"Oh, I'll take it," said Falcone. "I just don't want it." He snapped his fingers, and several henchman revealed themselves, weapons trained on the group of mercenaries stupid enough to allow themselves to be trapped in a concrete cul-de-sac. "What I want is _you_, Gertrude. Verbanski Corp. has deep pockets, I'm sure they'll pay a lot more than a mere three mil for their CEO back."

* * *

**A/N2 **Did anyone else notice that Gertrude's FBI-run operation never had an FBI liaison in it?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **Stepping on my own toes a bit. I don't normally have multiple stories running, and I'm trying to avoid posting to both of them on the same day, not sure if that matters to anyone but me. I've noticed that I've once again stepped back in time a little from the ending of the previous chapter, showing the same period from a different perspective. I'm not sure if that will be a regular thing, I'm feeling my way along in this story. I'm basically reversing the order, putting Kept Man to Goodbye first, with the rest of the season coming after, but I'll be trying to keep to the episodes as they are, the way I did with S3.

A lot of Kept Man deals with a B plot, in which Jeff discovers the spy team and Morgan and Devon mislead them, one of the best uses of the Buy More in several seasons, and a story I was actually able to use, after a fashion. One of the reasons for the overlap mentioned above is that this plot is more prominent in this segment of the canon episode and I needed to tell a different story in its place.

* * *

"_What's in Miami?"_

"_Don't become Volkoff while you're destroying her."_

"_Are you seeing a plus sign?"_

"_Leave us alone!"_

* * *

Back in the hotel room, monitoring the dinner...

His voice over the phone was both arrogant and demanding. "Agent McHugh, your report?"

Alex turned up the volume on the recorder. If the quality of the room service was any indication, the food in the restaurant had to be spectacular, and no one was wasting any time right now talking. The blips and blops on the oscilloscope matched the clinking of silverware against porcelain perfectly. "I could be home right now, watching _Downton Abbey_ with my dad. It's movie night, you know."

"That's not a proper report, Agent McHugh."

"You're not a proper superior, Agent Johnson," she replied. "You know as well as I do that this is a need-to-know situation, and you don't need to know."

"It's my operation!"

She knew that, and in addition to listening to her team drink wine and negotiate arms deals, she was analyzing that plan to death, looking for pinch points as the FBI, and more importantly her Dad, had taught her. "You know what happens to agents who get territorial, don't you, Johnson?"

"_A toast to the happy couple,"_ said the speaker.

Johnson breathed loudly into the phone, while she counted slowly. "Just don't screw it up, McHugh. I take a lot of pride in my work."

She rolled her eyes, unseen. _And of course I don't_. "Duly noted."

* * *

John and Gertrude watched their younger counterparts as they left the table, Sarah with a sudden blinding headache and Chuck providing support and guidance.

"Poisoned?" asked Gertrude.

"Not anymore," said Casey, remembering the same wild look in her eyes, when she fought him in that hall. "Bit of a flashback, if you ask me."

"Will it affect the mission?"

Casey curled his lip at the lack of sentiment, mercenary or otherwise. _She's my partner, dammit!_ The best spy he'd ever worked with, married to the second best spy he'd ever worked with. "No. She's a professional, they both are. You'll see." Suddenly Casey realized he was being insensitive to Gertrude's concerns. "Don't worry, it's a side-issue. You'll get paid, whatever happens." He turned to signal a waiter for some boxes.

Verbanski stabbed her fork into her entrée so hard she almost shattered the plate under it. "Thank God for that."

* * *

Later that night, back in the hotel room, while Alex is monitoring the meet…

"Good evening, Agent McHugh. How's the mission going?"

_Not another one. Doesn't anyone think I can do this? _"You know I can't tell you that, General."

"I do, and I'm glad you do as well, Agent," said Beckman pleasantly. "However, _Alex_, I'm calling about your other mission. The one I trust no one had to waste breath briefing you about."

Alex sat up straighter in her chair, not that the General could see her, but still…"No, General, uh, ma'am." No way she was calling her Diane.

"How did she take the news?"

"Um, pretty well, General," said Alex, trying not to wince as she said it.

"Do you really think it's wise to lie to a superior officer, even if she isn't in your chain of command?"

_Gee, let me think…_"No? General?"

"So perhaps you'd like to reconsider your answer."

Alex reconsidered her answer. "She might have been more surprised if I'd hit her in the face with a fresh fish, General, but I doubt it."

"That's better. Thank you, Agent."

"And she also seems to have had a flashback, not sure if it's related."

Beckman's voice lost its amused tone, became all business. "What kind? What about?"

"She pushed my dad out a window, while she was poisoned, or something?" Alex would be practicing her interrogation skills on somebody real soon. "My dad pounded the table and next thing I know she's shouting at him to leave them alone."

"Leave them alone?" said Beckman, in the tone of someone taking notes.

"Yes, ma'am. She came back from the dinner early, with a headache, or at least that's what she said. It went away pretty quickly, if you ask me. When she rejoined the team she seemed fine."

"When I want your opinion on any subject, Agent McHugh, you will know it," said the General severely. "Agent Bartowski deserves nothing less than your full support, your father would be the first to tell you that."

And her mother, and her cousins…"Yes, General," she replied crisply, as annoyed with herself for her slip as the General probably was.

"You may return to your duties now." Both of them.

* * *

On the way to the meet that Alex is monitoring...

"I can't believe you're accepting a meet in an unsecured location," grumbled Casey, lugging Gertrude's 'checkbook' with both hands.

"This isn't my first weapons deal, John," said Verbanski. She rapped on the door.

"Maybe not, but from the look of this guy it might be your last."

The door opened from within. "Good evening, Miss Verbanski, and guests," said Falcone with what he probably thought was charm. "Nice sweater," he said as they entered. Chuck and Sarah scoped the place out, while Casey clearly had his boss' well-being in mind.

Gertrude ran a proprietary hand down Casey's cashmere-covered arm. "At Verbanski Corp., we have a 'work hard, play hard, dress soft' policy."

Falcone kept his distance. "Business must be booming if you can afford to dress your security that well."

Gertrude smiled about something. "Speaking of booming…"

"Just show us the guns," finished Casey.

Falcone led them to his 'private range', a concrete wall with some circles drawn on it. He had a table set up, with a case, and from the case he withdrew the weapon. Small and boxy, perfect for terrorists and criminals. Casey wondered why someone like Verbanski would want this, as he snatched it from Falcone's hands.

"Where are the specs?" he asked.

"Specs?" said Falcone.

"Our people have studied the design, John," said Gertrude.

"Then let one of them test this thing," said Casey. "I'm not pulling that trigger until I put it together myself, so I can be sure it won't blow up in our faces while Chuckles over there walks away with your dough."

Gertrude stepped back. "I pay him for his expertise," she said to Falcone. "Not his manners." As if she couldn't have field-stripped the unit herself.

Casey popped out a panel, showing the words 'Safety Off'. Damn lab geeks. Who needs a screen to tell them the safety's on? He snapped it back in and continued his exercise. When he was satisfied, he picked up the unit and aimed at the circle, pulling the trigger.

Concrete chips sprayed impressively.

"Well, John?" asked Verbanski.

"It's a nice toy," he said, "Not worth what he's asking, though."

Gertrude turned back to Falcone. "You're going to have to do better than this if you want my money."

"I don't want your money," said Falcone, snapping his fingers.

One quick and dirty gun deal gone bad later…

Chuck and Sarah raised their hands as Falcone's men pointed their own Aegises their way.

Casey growled. _That's what this was all about? A kidnapping?_ No one kidnapped John Casey's primary! He lifted his 'nice toy' and pulled the trigger. His Aegis clicked.

Falcone smirked at Casey's look of surprise. "Apparently your boss didn't tell you that the Aegis' safety feature won't let it be fired at another Aegis with the same code."

Casey pulled out the screen, and saw the words 'Safety On'.

"Prevents 'friendly-fire' incidents," said Falcone, with a laugh. "Ingenius, no?"

"No," said Casey. "Two reasons. First, if I can't shoot at you, then you can't shoot at me, so you're all unarmed."

Falcone's men looked at their guns in shock, not realizing that only Casey was protected. Chuck and Sarah dropped their arms, pointing them at Falcone's men before flipping up their hands. The tranq shooters in their sleeves each fired at a different man, dropping them like sacks of meat to the concrete floor.

"Second," said Casey, as if nothing had happened, "I just changed the code." He pointed the gun at Falcone, whose own weapon wasn't even aimed. He hadn't really, but saying so was as good as doing it in these situations.

"Well, Rock," said Verbanski snidely, walking up to him, "I think your price just dropped, to free." She punched him and he fell. Casey sneered at the glass jaw.

Chuck looked around. "Well, that wasn't so hard. We got Falcone, his men, and his weapons, just like–"

"Don't!" shouted Verbanski.

"That." Chuck snapped his fingers.

BOOM!

Doors blew inward, not quite as hard as if they'd been kicked by Buffy the Vampire Slayer but not bad for high explosives. A crowd of armed and armored men swarmed in, with no one on their feet to point their weapons at.

Chuck looked at his hand, still in post-snap state. "Oops."

* * *

"Well, how was I supposed to know she had her own strike team assembled?" said Chuck indignantly, as they rode the elevator to the command center.

"I don't know, Chuck," said Casey. "Because she's a _mercenary_, maybe?"

"I'd think that a mercenary would be even more interested in cost-effective ways to handle these little issues, not less."

"Nah, they just add it to the bill," said Casey dismissively. "It's taxpayer dollars _I_ worry about." The elevator dinged, and the kept it quiet until they got to the room. "Hey, Alex."

She waved at them, but her attention was on her headphones, not them. "She's interrogating him now."

Casey hurried over, grabbing another set of headphones as he sat with his daughter.

Chuck and Sarah went to the bed, still a bit disarrayed from her previous visit. "You feeling all right?" asked Chuck as she settled herself again in the same spot.

She waved a hand vaguely at her face. "The Aegis, the doorbusters. They just brought my headache back, that's all."

They had painkillers. "You want something for that?"

"Not until I talk to my obstetrician, no."

That was fast. "You have an obstetrician?"

"I do now."

"Whoever heard of an OB-GYN with clearance?"

"We'll be talking about babies, Chuck, not logistics." Not that those were as different as one might think.

"What about your explosion-related headache?"

"Obviously I'll blame that on my overly-attentive husband."

"Here, babe, let me carry that heavy dish for you," said Chuck, trying and failing completely to capture Devon's laid-back tone. "Hey babe, let me get the door for you. Hey babe, let me carry you, the mother of my baby shouldn't have to walk all the way out to the car…"

Sarah burst out laughing. "Yeah. Like that."

Thank God for bad examples. "Ask Ellie for her 'caves and fields' speech, then feel free to hit me with it as needed."

"I've already got a remedy in mind."

Uh-oh. She had spent quite a lot of time in his mother's company. "There's a prescription for that?"

"Yeah." She reached up a hand to touch his face. "Stars. Lots and lots of lucky stars, for me to thank each and every day of my life, that you're in it."

Chuck laid a gentle hand on her belly. "Save some for me," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

"Oo!" said Casey loudly, and they looked over at the comm equipment, but no one was looking at them.

"That's gonna leave a mark," said Alex to her father, and they toasted each other with bottles of whatever non-alcoholic beverage was in the fridge.

"Do we want to know?" said Chuck.

"I know I don't," said Sarah.

Chuck looked down at his spread hand. "Is that the way we want to raise our kids?"

Sarah clasped her hands together over his. "It's not like Casey had anything to do with her upbringing, Chuck."

"You're not cheering me up here, Sarah." Please don't let it be genetic.

"Don't start spiraling, Chuck."

"I'm not spiraling, you're spiraling."

"You're both spiraling," said Casey, tugging the headphones from his ears and glaring at them. "You're ruining a perfectly good interrogation with all your maudlin whining. If I'd thought Kath would raise any children we might have together to be creatures I couldn't stand to have around, I wouldn't have chosen her to have those children in the first place. Get me?" He put the 'phones back on and settled in to listen.

Brown eyes looked into blue. Their child had two spies for parents. "I'm still holding out for a beautiful blonde nerd."

"We're doomed," said Sarah.

* * *

_A young god walked casually down the sidewalk, as tall as his father, as blond as his mother. Blue eyes scanned the surroundings. "I'm making the drop now," he said to no one. For some reason he sounded a lot like Devon._

_He bent to check the headlines in a newspaper box, smoothly sliding a card in between the machines. Whistling, he walked away._

_Two men walked up to the machines, taking the card from its hiding spot, details for a meeting. "Excellent," said the skinny one. "Agent Bartowski is as good as ours."_

* * *

He snapped awake, nameless dread receding. Comfortable darkness. Soft and warm. It smelled like Sarah. Long fingers flexed. Felt like Sarah.

* * *

_The moving train swayed on the tracks, and she lost her balance. Her belly hit a low rail and exploded in pain._

* * *

"Oh," Sarah moaned, not a happy moan.

Warm body rolled out from under questing fingers. _No! Don't go!_ Stumbling footsteps sounded, racing to the bathroom.

"Smooth moves, Romeo," said Casey. "How'd you ever manage to have a kid, anyway?"

Chuck rolled over, throwing off the light blanket he couldn't remember putting over them. "Casey?" Someone made a loud retching noise in the bathroom. "Sarah?"

"Don't just lie there, Chuck," said Casey, nudging the bed with his knee. "Get up and hold the little woman's hair."

"What if she's, like…_doing_ something?"

"Then I'd give her points for efficiency." Casey rolled his eyes. "You don't have to actually do it, genius, you just have to try. You knock, she says she'll kill you if you even touch the knob, you back off and order some crackers from room service." He shrugged. "Simple enough."

Chuck rolled sideways, shambling toward the bathroom. He knocked. "Sweetie?"

"You try to come in and I'll kill you!"

Chuck took a step back. "Right. Crackers." He went back into the room, only to find Casey and Alex sacked out where he and Sarah had been, both of them snoring. "That was quick."

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski sat in the front of her Zodiac. Falcone had given up his supplier's position in the Everglades, just as she'd expected. The incursion was proceeding just as she'd planned. The inclusion of John Casey and his team, not as planned. Not even as hoped.

Seeing him again had been a pleasant surprise, surprisingly pleasant, and Gertrude wasn't the sort of woman who liked surprises. Still the same…_"I'm a patriot."_ She'd been a patriot too, once. Lucky him, to not have a country collapse under his feet, its uniform worse than meaningless.

What else was there for her, other than to become a mercenary? Certainly swearing allegiance to some other country's flag would be the worst sort of disloyalty. John didn't seem to realize that. She hoped, mostly, soldier to soldier, that he never would, never be forced out of the uniform he so loved to wear.

A small, malicious part of her had taken some pleasure in doing so temporarily, though. The sweater had been presented as cover, the only way he'd take it, and his unhappiness to be seen wearing her 'colors', even for a little while, was a nice bit of payback for all his snotty remarks.

He was different, though, and something in her liked the difference. The narrow-minded patriot whose gun she'd taken in Minsk would never have responded so gently to Sarah's assault on him at the dinner table that previous night. The Casey she knew had no interest in 'ladyfeelings', not even during their one post-mission tryst, way back when.

Maybe he'd learned a new trick, the old dog.

Then it blew up in her face, as she might have known it would. Only a fool tried to force John Casey to do anything. _You'll get paid._ As if money was the only thing she…cared for.

Falcone took the brunt of that…disappointment, just as well. Was Casey listening in? She hoped so, and went a bit further than her usual. When Falcone (eventually) cracked, she (eventually) got around to informing her government liaison, only to find that Casey had gone to sleep long before. Then the little wifey was puking again and Gertrude had no interest in pursuing that conversation.

She needed somebody to hit, and Falcone wasn't going to cut it anymore. Training for the mission also wouldn't do, not if she wanted any of her team to actually be able to go on the mission.

To hell with it, to hell with John. Falcone's supplier, Pedro St. Germaine, had a sizable bounty on his head already. She could collect that instead. Make the FBI happy without having to deal with Casey and his people. She'd just have to find some other little project to put into her 'charitable contributions' folder.

The Zodiac bumped against soft ground and she trampled those thoughts into the mud. Her team fanned out behind her, eyes alert, scanning the trees, the bushes. Nothing and no one challenged them as they advanced, until she got to the treeline and the lights beyond it.

St. Germaine's compound was the usual collection of shacks and hovels, minimal shelter for the men moving crates of weaponry around. Abandon it and the whole place would be reclaimed by the swamp in days. The main 'road' ran north-south between the huts, and the loading jetty was to the west, making her incursion point clear. "We'll attack from the East," she told her lieutenant. "Take St. Germaine alive." For a second she amused herself with an image of her parading St. Germaine past Casey.

Gunfire in the distance.

No. Not in the distance. Behind them! She dropped by sheer reflex. Troops, her troops, spun and died all around her.

Then she was alone.

Men approached her position, not bothering to conceal their presence anymore, and how had they done it in the first place? Verbanski rose to her knees, surrendering her pistol before they did something more drastic than merely take it from her. She stayed down, rather than give anyone the satisfaction of knocking her down a second time.

A tall man in a bright red shirt appeared from between two trees, carrying a shotgun. "Figured it would only be a matter of time before that rat Falcone sold me out."

"Everyone talks, Pedro."

St. Germaine laughed. "That's right, _Gertrude_, they do. Which is why I have this location for them to send people to. We even do some business here."

A trap, and here she was, no strike team to get her out of this one. She'd made a mistake in a business where you only get one, and now she was about to die for John Casey. "You just gonna wave that thing around or do you plan to use it?" she asked, hoping to provoke him into making it quick.

"Use this on the head of a billion-dollar-a-year company?" One of his men pulled out a zip-tie as she was lifted to her feet. "You're more valuable to me alive. For now."

* * *

**A/N2 **I wish I could have come up with a better dream sequence for Sarah, but there wasn't anything I could modify for the purpose, so I made it up and kept it brief.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Even though I'm doing this whole season under one title, I'll be keeping to the four chapters per episode format, so this is the last part of the revision of Kept Man.

* * *

"_Will it affect the mission?"_

"_I just changed the code." _

"_Stars. Lots and lots of lucky stars."_

"_That was quick."_

* * *

Casey woke to the sounds of quiet purpose. Chuck was monitoring the electronics, while Sarah was busy on another computer, with running commentary. "Your mother would have had a field day with this. I found one pinch-point Alex didn't, and I'm sure Mary could find more."

"Are they fixable in time?" asked Chuck.

"I can tweak the ones I found," said Sarah. "She made the manpower requests, I don't know if the people are available, though."

"What's going on?" said Casey, rolling off the bed.

No one looked up but neither seemed surprised at his sudden entry into their conversation. "Verbanski missed her check-in," said Sarah.

Casey checked the clock. "It's not time yet."

"Her check-in with her own company," said Chuck. "They called us. Apparently she decided to change the plan and go it alone. Took all of her people, launched an early strike, and that's the last they know."

"Doesn't sound like Gertrude at all," said Casey.

"Yeah, well, it gets worse," said Sarah. "She took their entire team. Without us she had no men to spare. Verbanski Corp. is requesting our assistance."

Casey's lip curled in confusion, rather than his usual disdain. "They're what?" Security companies gave assistance, they didn't ask for it. "This makes no sense."

"What did you say to her last night, Casey?" asked Chuck.

"Nothing, Bartowski," snapped Casey. "She was worried that you two, sorry, you _three_, would blow the mission. I told her you wouldn't, that you were pros, and that she didn't have anything to worry about, payment-wise."

"So basically, she insulted us," said Sarah, knowing how Casey would take Verbanski's remark. "And you insulted her back."

"How can you insult a mercenary?" asked Casey, confused. "Bounce the check?"

"From a distance?" said Chuck.

_Men. _"You're such an idiot, Casey. Did you manage to notice even one of the signals she was throwing your way all day?"

"What are you talking about, Bartowski?" said Casey, leaning on the table ominously. "Gertrude Verbanski doesn't 'send signals', she shoots off flares. I'd have to be the most clueless, insensitive, uncaring–" He broke off at the feel of Chuck's hand on his arm.

"You know, Sarah, you're right, this cashmere is really soft. Gonna be a bitch to keep clean, though, all that dry-cleaning…"

"Hands off, Bartowski," said Casey, pulling back. "Unfortunately, I _know_ where they've been." He looked down at his arm, then up at Sarah.

Sarah made a _ta-da_ gesture but otherwise said nothing.

Both men adopted near-identical expressions of disgust, but Casey was actually inside the damned thing. He pulled the sweater over his head and launched it across the room, where it ended, coincidentally, in a garbage can.

"Good shot," said Chuck.

"I wasn't aiming."

"Just trying to build up your sniper cred, Casey," said Chuck innocently, "You know, before you go all private-sector on us–"

"She's not trying to hire a sniper, Chuck. The only thing she's interested in is him."

"Casey?" said Chuck in amazement. "Physically?"

Casey looked annoyed. "Sexually."

"And the last time you even _met_ her was in '95?"

"You ever have sex with someone who just tried to kill you?" asked Casey. Chuck looked on in horror as the big men's eyes got all unfocused. "It was incredible." His face hardened. "But I'm no one's lapdog."

"That's the spirit, Casey. Focus on the mission."

"What _is_ the mission?" Casey looked around. "Where's Alex?"

"Went for a run," said Sarah. "She said she wanted to get out of this room for a while, and could we please monitor the equipment for her. She's on her way back." The phone rang. "Get that, will you, Casey? And remember to press the yellow button."

Casey picked up the phone, saw Verbanski's name on the screen, with a background photo of her looking all armed and dangerous. It was a good look for her. He pressed the damned yellow damned button. "Miss Verbanski?" he said, dangerously polite.

A man's voice came from the speaker. "I have your boss, so listen up."

_She's not my boss. _"You think you captured the world's most dangerous mercenary?" growled Casey, no longer polite.

"Yeah," said the guy. "Yeah, I did."

Casey said "Tied up, waiting for rescue?" with a double helping of sarcasm.

"Again, correct." Whoever this was, probably that Pedro guy, he tried to take control of the conversation. "You want to see her alive again, you'll bring me ten million in cash, by tonight."

"Nice touch, loser."

"John, I do not authorize any payments, do you hear me?" shouted Gertrude in the background. "I'll handle this myself!"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed from the phone. "Bring me my money." The call ended.

"You get that?" asked Casey.

Chuck sighed a negative. "I can tell you it's in the Everglades."

"We knew that already. What about the tracker?"

"He must have pulled the battery, there's nothing."

The door slammed open. "What the hell was that?" asked Alex, standing there in her running outfit, not breathing hard.

"Ransom demand," said Casey automatically. "Wait a minute, how'd you even know–?"

Alex walked up to the table, and snagged her phone. "It's the newest model. Some genius had the idea to put comm broadcasting ability into it." She touched her ear. "I heard everything on the way up. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to call this in." She walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

* * *

Casey was first out of the boat, because he was a Marine, and Marines did that. The coast appeared to be clear, and why wouldn't it be? "Give me the box," he said quietly, and Chuck and Sarah lifted it up. "Carefully."

They passed the large case over to him, before getting out of the boat themselves. Casey unzipped his suit, to reveal…another suit. He was a corporate flunky now, the perfect disguise. "Remember," he said to Chuck, "You've got five minutes after he opens the box, before all hell breaks loose. The code is 'open up'."

"Walk slowly," said Sarah, nodding as she inspected her weapon. "Finding a vantage point in this place won't be easy."

Chuck backed away. "I'll meet you inside." He would rather have stayed, but Casey would soon be standing in a building full of guns, and really, he did not want to be there for that.

* * *

Gertrude hadn't made much headway getting herself loose, there was always someone standing behind her. At least they hadn't shoved that piece of cloth back in her mouth, not that there was anything she wanted to say to soon-to-be-dead men. John Casey would make quick work of these idiots.

"I'm here to make a trade with St. Germaine."

_What the hell is he doing?_ Unarmed? Nice suit, though. And where on Earth did he get ten million from so quickly?

The goons all walked away from her, eager to get closer to the loot, and she was finally free to go for the blade in her belt. John dumped the box on a table and opened it at Pedro's gesture. When it didn't explode, Casey was pushed away from the table as Pedro took over. The first few bundles went into his own pockets. He started counting the rest, as if it mattered how much they'd really brought.

John ended up by Gertrude, on one knee. "Are you all right, Miss Verbanski?" he asked, the loyal flunky.

"John, you shouldn't have come," she said, playing along. "You know they're just gonna kill us both."

"I know," said Casey, his eyes flicking side to side, looking for targets out of the corners of his eyes. "I asked for the job. I couldn't let you die alone. I couldn't let you die without knowing how I felt."

_What kind of game is this?_ "John, this is hardly the time or place–"

Well, she was half right. He could have picked a lot of better places, but the time was just about perfect. "We have no more time, so the place will have to do. I need to _open up_ to you." He paused, as if waiting for something to happen._  
_"Please don't."

_What's keeping Sarah?_ "It's too late, Miss Verbanski…Gertrude. It's been too late for years."

She smiled down at him. "Let me guess. '95?"

He nodded, looking anywhere but at her. "Yeah. A long time. _Too long_."

Something was definitely up. She did her bit to keep the charade going. "Maybe you're just too strong for your own good."

"I think opportunity wanted to use the front door, but mine was too well defended. So it had to use the _back window_ instead."

"And now here we are."

Something crashed through the back window. Bullets ripped across the floor, toward the money. Pedro pushed a few of his men in harm's way and fled, leaving the money and the box for a later time. Casey dove for a gun as Chuck took a knife to Verbanski's ropes. "What the hell are you doing here, Charles? I told you, this place is a bloodbath waiting to happen."

Verbanski grabbed another gun.

"Sarah got flash-banged, we had to switch." Chuck sniffed, and went to the table.

"She was supposed to provide cover for our escape," said Casey, taking pot-shots at the low-hanging fruit outside. "What are _you_ gonna do?"

Chuck slammed the lid closed on the box. "I'm distracting the enemy so that we can make our escape before, and I quote, 'all hell breaks loose'."

"Time to go," said Casey.

"We've got no cover," shouted Verbanski.

"You've got the Aegis," said Chuck. "They can't shoot you without letting you shoot them first."

"Believe me, sweetheart," said Casey, "We really need to go _now_."

Together they ran from the building. The bad guys' guns clicked. Casey and Verbanski fired at them, using the simple trick of not shooting at them but at the boxes they hid behind. Strangely, the thugs being shot at didn't notice this tactic, or try to copy it. Like the idiots they were, they ran away, and of course the Aegis had no problem firing at a weapon pointing the other way.

"A good show," yelled Pedro, stepping out with his shotgun ready. Casey and Verbanski tried to shoot, but they were out, and Pedro was too far away for Chuck to get physical, far enough that the blast from his gun would hit them all. "Very entertaining bit of comedy, but now you're cancelled. This gun ain't got no safety." He took aim at Verbanski, standing between her rescuers. His finger flexed on the trigger.

Scorch marks appeared on his shirt, and on his pants, wherever he had pockets. He shouted in sudden pain.

Just then, Sarah arrived with transport, turning Pedro into roadkill. Or maybe not. No one stopped to check. Her teammates jumped on board.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you, Charles?"

No windshield wipers, but there was no time to turn around anyway. "Ran into a few obstacles." Putting it in reverse, Sarah drove back over Pedro and right out the gate. Backwards. At night. In a swamp.

"You can slow down now," said Gertrude.

"I don't think so."

Night turned to day, only louder, but Sarah had her head turned away as she drove, and sped up. "That's better."

"Oh," said Casey.

"My," said Gertrude.

"Sarah," said Chuck, "Hurry."

The truck drove off the land and down into the water, as a sheet of flame and superheated air rolled out into the space where they had been. Trees burned as the group climbed out of the sinking truck, heading back to shore.

"What was that?" asked Gertrude. _And where can I _get_ one?_

"That was a ten million dollar money bomb," said Casey happily. "Opened up in the middle of a fuel and ammo dump."

Verbanski's eyes went wide with horror. "That wasn't real money–?"

"Of course not," said the big man. "But nobody does fake money better than the people who make the real money. The paper's highly flammable, the ink reacts to oxygen and combusts, while the case makes C4 look like Play-Doh™."

The fires burned only on the edges, the force of the explosion snuffing them out closer to ground zero. The bare circle was probably visible from orbit. Gertrude sagged. "No bounty tonight."

"Relax," said Casey, untying their little boat, untouched behind an embankment. "You're on the clock again."

Verbanski grunted thoughtfully. "There's still the other part of Pedro's organization. This was just a trap."

"Alex is on it," said Casey.

"You found it already?"

"Chuck did. He can get a signal off a bran muffin, given half a chance."

She looked over at the younger couple contemplatively. "Don't even think about it," said Casey. "He's taken."

She let it go. The bounty would have been better, but subtract the costs of the rescue and it came out pretty much the same. Not to mention the things money couldn't buy. "'Sweetheart'?"

Casey pulled the rope the wrong way, and the knot fouled. "Heat of the moment," he mumbled.

Gertrude stomped over to him, squelching wetly through the mud. "How much of that did you mean back there?"

John pretended to fumble with the knot. "How much of it did you like?"

She reached out a hand and caught his jaw, firm as if carved by Michelangelo himself, and made him look at her. "I liked an awful lot."

He reached up a hand to touch hers, but didn't try to pull it away. "Well…then…that's how much I meant it."

Verbanski pulled him in for a take-no-prisoners kiss.

"Ugh," said Sarah, not even trying to imitate one of Casey's grunts.

Chuck laughed with her. "Yeah." He pulled her out of sight behind a tree, and into his own arms. "Ladyfeelings."

"I thought we liked ladyfeelings," said Sarah. She caught her fingers in his curly, animal-shaped hair and took a few prisoners of her own.

* * *

The skiff purred across the water to the launch site. Casey and Verbanski treated each others' injuries up front. Chuck and Sarah, injury-less, sat in the back, piloting the boat and trying not to look.

The radio started speaking with Alex' voice. "Team B, are you there?"

Casey picked it up. "Roger that, Team Lead. Extraction was successful, no casualties. All present and accounted for."

"You might have said something."

"Thought you might be busy."

"We were," said Alex. "Just mopping up now. Pedro St. Germaine is officially out business. You guys get him?"

"Some of him, but I think the river washed most of it off." Verbanski smiled, the only one who appreciated Casey's unique style of humor.

Alex may have also, but she was Agent McHugh tonight. "You were supposed to take him into custody."

"We didn't have a bucket. Chuck set him on fire and Sarah ran him over with a Humvee. Kind'a limited our options a bit. We did him a favor and left him about ten meters from the box."

"And they call _you_ the violent one?"

Casey winked at his partners. "I know, right?"

"We saw the fireball," said Alex. "It was very pretty."

_That's my girl. _"I think the grill on the truck we stole was singed, but you'd have to pull it out of the river to make sure."

Alex' voice carried no hint of interest, or humor. "As long as you all got out safely."

Some calls are just too close. "Understood."

"I'll see you back at the hotel, B-Lead."

"Affirmative."

* * *

Packing up in Miami…

"So…where are you off to next?" asked Casey.

"Dresden," said Gertrude, breaking her own rules about operational security.

Casey grunted approval. "I like Dresden. Harsh."

"And cold," said Gertrude. "Let's not forget cold. If you were there, we could…tend each others' wounds again. Or something."

Casey grimaced. Or maybe he smiled. It was kind of hard to tell. "Sounds good, but we kind of have a war on…"

Her eyes lit up. "Anything I can help with?"

"A _spy_ war," he clarified.

The world's most dangerous mercenary didn't pout, exactly. "Not a lot of violence in those."

Casey sighed too. "Not if you do it right. Not until the end."

"Our contract ends in two months," said Gertrude hopefully.

"We're under the gun, may not be able to wait that long." With a nod of his head he indicated the room Chuck and Sarah had fled to.

Gertrude nodded. "Understood. Well, until then…" she went to a closet and pulled out a hanger with a garment bag on it.

"Not another one."

"Relax, you big baby. I knew the sweater wasn't your thing."

"Sorry about the trash can," said Casey. "I really wasn't aiming."

She held out the bag. "Try this on for size."

He unzipped the bag and revealed a Verbanski Corp. official bulletproof vest. With the logo and everything. He growled appreciatively.

Gertrude smiled. "For when I'm not there to do the job myself."

* * *

Chuck was saving off the data files when he found it. "Sarah?" he said. "What's this?"

Sarah came up behind him and looked at the screen. Her hands settled on his shoulders. "You know me," she said, with a hint of embarrassment. "I like to plan ahead."

He pointed at the screen, with a list of male names. "For six sons?" He reached up to touch her hands.

"I never planned for _any_ sons," whispered Sarah. "Never expected them, never hoped for them. And now…here I am. I have a husband, a house. A baby."

He tilted his head back, looking up into her smiling, tear-streaked face. "A normal life."

Her face settled, firmed, and for a second he saw Agent Walker staring down at him. "Not yet," she said. Then she was his Sarah again. "But soon."

* * *

Eventually, back in Washington…

Morgan tried, he really did, but the stupid champagne cork just would not–

Alex grabbed the bottle and whacked it against the table. _Pop!_ One of the waiters caught the cork before it could do any damage, but no one noticed.

Morgan took the bottle smoothly, and poured for them both. "Here's to you," he said when he was finished, lifting his glass. "And a very successful first mission."

Alex tasted her champagne, and said, "Alright, Morgan. Out with it."

"Moi?" he said in faux-surprise. "Out with what?"

"You've been looking like the cat who swallowed the canary since I got back."

"Before that, actually, you just weren't here to see it. And, as it turns out, I do have some news of my own, not as big as yours, of course–" he put his hand over hers and shook it gently "–but still pretty big to those of us in this particular small pond. You remember our trip to Vail, all those parties we went to and the cards I handed out? Well it turns out at least one of those cards made its way into the right hands. We got a visit from a genuine celebrity. Bo Derek was right here! In my restaurant! Just last night."

Alex looked confused. "Bo Derek? Have I heard of her?"

Much as Morgan wished Chuck and his team could be here to share her glory, he was glad his best friend was off saving the world somewhere and didn't hear that. "That poster in my closet that you think I don't know you know about? That's Bo Derek. And she was right here!" said Morgan in triumph. "And she even said that she'd be back, with friends. She wanted to meet me, personally!" He beamed. "How cool is that?"

* * *

**A/N2 **The scene where Chuck looks up and sees Agent Walker looking down at him is _**not**_ a reference to Amnesia Sarah. She's just got a very determined look on her face.


	5. Vail of Tears

**A/N** Here begins my rewrite of Chuck vs. Bo. It's a good thing I'm not trying to come up with titles for each individual episode anymore, I don't know what I'd call this one. Thanks to tut1971 for helping me with a couple of scenes.

* * *

"_How can you insult a mercenary?"_

"_The code is 'open up'." _

"_I have a husband, a house."_

"_How cool is that?"_

* * *

Ellie was never so happy to see anything as when she stepped through the doorway into her own house, carrying her child in her arms. Her parents were there, they had returned, now it was her brother who was gone. "Welcome home, Clara."

"Yeah, it's a stellar sign, isn't it?" said Devon, holding the door open for her. He pointed, and she saw a banner over her favorite chair, that said _Welcome Home, Clara_ in bright colors. The whole room had been cleaned, and food prepared. "Nice work, Mom and Dad B."

"Thank you, dear," said Mary, "But it was pleasure, not work." She looked at her daughter and granddaughter. "I'd ask you how you're feeling, Ellie, but I think you've probably heard that enough."

Ellie didn't exactly smile. "Oh, yes." The unusual nature of her case had the obstetrician, the pediatrician, and even that guy Doug hovering and testing. In Doug's case she was pretty sure it was just political, and she was happy to support him in that at the beginning, but eventually she had to put her foot down. "I think I gave Doug enough blood to _write_ the damn paper."

"Hey, babe, he needs the publication credit if he wants to keep his job," said Devon, collecting her coat.

"So tell me," said Ellie, dragging the conversation away from where it had been the last few days of her life, "What's been going with everybody out here? All I know is that Carina finally got the call?" She moved to her chair and sat down.

"Actually, we're sort of hoping that you can tell us, dear," said Mary, as Stephen went to get her some food and Devon started taking pictures. "They aren't saying anything to me, of course, and I'm really trying to get Stephen out of 'renegade spy' mode." She suddenly glared at her husband. "Really, Stephen, what were you thinking?"

The genius-formerly-known-as-Orion raised his hand, the one not holding the plate. "Hey, blame Roarke, don't blame me. I would've been glad to stay in our basement." He set the plate on the table so his daughter could use it one-handed.

"I'd rather blame someone alive," said Mary, but then she caught the pained expression on her daughter's face. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to ruin your homecoming."

"Mom, just the fact that you and Dad are here to argue makes this a wonderful day," said Ellie, resolving to discuss business with the General from here on out. "Chuck really fixed our family."

The word _almost_ hung in the air, but this was supposed to be a happy occasion, so they ignored it. "Would anyone like a glass of wine?" asked Stephen, a bit early in the day for it but how often does one's first grandchild come home? Mary seconded the motion, and he went to the sideboard.

"Hey, babe, how about a nice baby-smoothie, instead?" suggested Devon. "Some milk for calcium and Vitamin D, a few eggs for the DHA, and a banana for the potassium. Sound good?"

"Thanks, honey," said Ellie with a smile. Anything was an improvement on hospital food, especially now that Chuck had broken him of his roadkill-shake habit.

Mom and Dad shared a glance. "You know what, that does sound good," said Stephen, putting down the corkscrew. "Let's all have some."

"Outstanding," said Devon, with his trademark grin. He put down the camera and went into the kitchen.

"So, Ellie, have you been keeping track of Clara's vital statistics like I suggested?" asked Mary, and Stephen went into the kitchen to help.

* * *

That afternoon, in the swamp…

"So what are you going to do with these two?" asked Carina, looking into the car. Two men sat in the front, unconscious, apparently from an impact with a large tree.

"Depends on what they were doing," said Casey, reaching in through the window to search the guy without moving him around too much.

"Running away from a pitched battle with federal officers, from the look of it," said Carina, doing the same on the other side. The battle was over, but the mopping up would take a very long time. Pedro St. Germaine had been a central link in the flow of guns and drugs into and out of the Southeastern U.S., but not anymore. Now he was air pollution, dead in his own trap, leaving his main facility (using the word loosely) ripe for the plucking.

That wasn't part of the plan, actually, and the Powers that were in charge of the FBI side of things weren't thrilled. Hard to trace a guy's distribution network when it didn't exist anymore, so Chuck had to be clever again.

"Take it easy with the pat-down," said Casey, as Carina's investigation of the male body got more vigorous. "We don't want to have to tranq them again." Bad enough they'd had to do so last night, but the intel at the compound trumped a couple of goons. Especially when Chuck thought he could use the goons.

"Got something," said Carina, working her way ever further down the man's torso.

"I know what you've got," said Casey, trying hard not to look. "And you'd better put it back before that boy–"

"Casey!"

"–friend of yours finds out."

"You have a dirty and lascivious mind, John Casey," sneered Carina, loosening the guy's belt and reaching into his pants. She pulled out a manila envelope, folded over but unsealed.

"'Lascivious'?"

"Davis has one of those word-a-day calendars. I think he likes upgraded banter too."

Casey prayed for strength. Or a muzzle in her size, whichever came first. "What's in it?"

"Three hundred sixty four words with accompanying defini–oh, you mean the…thing." She popped it open and reached inside. "One cell phone, and…another cell phone."

_Jackpot_. "You keep those, and here." He held up a smaller device, as she put the phones in her pocket. "We'll let them carry on with whatever they were doing." He dropped the flash drive into the envelope without having to actually, you know, touch it.

"I think he'll notice that his package has gotten smaller, Casey. Men can be sensitive that way."

"This is the upgraded version, huh?" Sounded just like the old banter.

"Why waste the good stuff on _you_?"

_How about strong, _and_ a muzzle._ "Just put it back, Miller." He pulled a little flat spray case from his pocket.

Carina had to think about what she was doing. She'd never helped a man put his clothes on before. She recognized the sprayer, at least. "What's In that?"

"Twilight juice, a bit more concentrated than the darts." Casey sprayed the atomized liquid into the two men's noses. "These guys will forget the last several hours, assume it's because of the crash, and deliver what they'll think is their boss' package, none the wiser."

"What if you just erased their memory of who they're supposed to give it to?"

"Then he'll come looking for them. Either way, not our problem."

"Works for me." Carina pulled out a special gun and fired twice, once into each unconscious thug's leg.

"What's that for?" asked Casey.

"Not so much fun, being left out of the plan, is it, Casey?" She displayed the gun but didn't hand it over. "Manoosh gave it to me before I came down."

He reached over the top of the car for it. "Looks like a water pistol."

She pulled it back. "That's just the shell, it's experimental. Vivian put a tracker in Chuck, now he's returning the favor."

Casey shook his head, disappointed. "She'll be ready for that, everyone she sees will be scanned long before they get to her, like Sarah was."

"Good," said Carina.

"Good?"

Manoosh spoke geek, she didn't. "I think it works that way, you'd have to ask Chuck."

"It'll tag them all the way to Volkoff?"

"Depends on how many times they get scanned. It should give us a few more links in the chain, at least, even though–"

"We only need the next one."

* * *

Sarah woke to a soft thump. Throwing off her blanket, she rolled off the bed so as not to disturb Chuck. Yawning, she walked to the door and opened it, looking down. No Newspaper.

Big box of guns, being carried by two strong young soldiers, talk about a rude awakening. She'd just made a mistake in a business where most people only get one. "Sorry, Agent Charles," said the younger of the soldiers. "The other agent said we're supposed to let you sleep, but this one got away from us a little bit…"

"Uh, that's…you know what, that's fine, it's about time I was getting up anyway," Sarah said, forcing a smile. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can find the other agent, would you?"

His hands full, the young man indicated a direction with a toss of his head before he and his partner took their burden away. Sarah closed the door, leaning against it. A couch, not a bed, sat against one wall, with a light blanket on the floor. Not a bed. Some dead criminal's office, not a home.

On the plus side, she hadn't opened up the door to that soldier while dressed only in lingerie.

_I have to get out of this business._ This life, this world. The only life and world she knew, except for the Chuck-related parts, and she really liked being related to those parts. Dinners for three. Beds for two.

Crib for one.

She looked down at the folded blanket in her hands, with no memory of how she'd gotten over to the couch, picked it up, or folded it. The doorknob rattled, and she quick-twisted the blanket into a garrote as Chuck opened the door and walked in.

"I want to quit spying," she said quickly, letting one end of the garrote fall.

Chuck stopped, with the door half-shut. "Okay," he said, finishing the job. "Not what I was expecting..."

Sarah threw the folded blanket on the couch and stomped over to him. "I wasn't expecting anything either. I just opened the door in my underwear!"

"You had clothes on over them, Sarah, I saw you–"

"It's not funny," she shouted. "I was half asleep, I thought I was in bed at home, and I went to get the paper. What if that had been a terrorist outside the door, instead of that nice soldier?"

_No secrets, no lies. _"You'd be dead," said Chuck, taking her into his arms. "But, I think you should consider that you've got me, and Casey, and Carina, here with you." He let go a little, to look into her face. "You've got the FBI, and a bunch of soldiers collecting weapons from bad guys who are all dead. If you really, truly, honestly thought that an armed terrorist on the other side of the door was a possibility, you would have taken the right precautions."

Sarah wished he was wearing a tie right now, something she could hold on to. She focused on his top button. "So…you're saying…I felt safe."

"You felt safe." He kissed her on the tip of her nose.

She held him so tightly his heartbeat vibrated through her. "I never feel safe." Not on the outside, at least.

"Well, you do now." He indicated the couch. "Sit. We need to talk."

* * *

Morgan Grimes strolled into his domain, his realm, his restaurant. The patrons came first, of course, and Morgan was ever vigilant for signs of dissatisfaction from what he'd come to think of as _his_ crowd. The sound, that soft even murmur of people more concerned with each other than the venue, told him everything he needed to know. There was Sam at his podium, efficiently distributing the patronage among the efficient and smiling wait staff.

"Evening, Mr. Grimes."

"Evening, Sam, and as usual it looks like a _good_ evening."

"We aim to please, sir."

"Then you and all your people qualify for marksman badges, Sam, you all hit the target so well."

"Thank you, sir," said Sam, who currently held a sharpshooter medal with two clasps. He didn't wear it, that would be gauche. "Oh, hey," he said, as if just remembering. "This came for you today." He popped up the lid on his station and pulled out a box.

"Why would anyone send something to me here?" asked Morgan, unaware that Sam was wondering the same thing. With a key, Morgan slit the tape and opened the package. "Hey, it's my phone!" he said excitedly, pulling the object out of the box. "I thought I lost it in Colorado."

"On your vacation?" asked Sam, as casually as he could, which was pretty casual. "Why would they send it here?"

Morgan felt something on the back, and flipped the phone over. Taped on the bottom was a business card. "I was handing out cards right and left. Whoever found it must have put two and two together." He put the phone in his pocket. "I wonder who it was. Be nice to say thanks."

* * *

In the lot across the street from the restaurant, a man sitting in a car parked in the shadows put down a pair of binoculars. He checked his own phone, and the picture of Morgan's face that he'd taken remotely with the camera function of the phone in Morgan's hand. Not a bad plan, all things considered, although putting the tech together at the last minute cut into his profit margin. The place was just crawling with personnel from multiple agencies, though, no way he could show his face inside.

He sent a message to an electronic dropbox, "Package delivered," with the image as proof, as required by his employer.

After a moment he received a response code. _Easy money._ He sent it off to a different account entirely, before taking the phone apart and smashing the pieces. He drove away, already forgetting the name of his target.

* * *

For some reason, even though the office had a couch and some chairs, everyone was standing, drinking bad coffee.

"Quit?" asked Casey, taking a sip and making a face. "Now?"

The pregnant Bartowski took a sip of her own. "Weren't you the one who told me that the time to go out was while I was on top?"

Carina groaned. "Not gonna say it." She drank some coffee just to make sure.

"Thank you," said Chuck, lifting his mug to his lips.

Casey timed it perfectly. "I meant 'in the middle of a mission', Bartowski, I couldn't care less about your sex life."

Chuck sprayed his sip of coffee all over the room.

_That should have been mine. _"Why do I bother?" asked Carina.

"_I_ appreciate it," said Chuck, wiping himself off.

"I'm not abandoning the mission," said Sarah. "It's not just for Ellie, you know. Vivian has Chuck's DNA as well as my own available. I can't go home until I know that that weapon is destroyed."

"And when it's destroyed, and you go home," said Carina. "What next?"

Sarah traced a circle on her belly with a finger. "You know what comes next."

Carina looked unhappy, but not homicidally so. "Then…this is _it_?"

"_Miller_," said Casey suddenly, before Sarah could say anything.

"I'm sorry," said Carina, and the amazing thing was, she meant it. "It just slipped out."

"What just slipped out?" asked Chuck. "'This is it'?"

"Bartowski!" growled Casey. He tried to whack Chuck upside the head, but his mug was in his whacking hand and he wasn't about to waste coffee.

"What's wrong with saying 'this is it'?" asked Chuck. "What's it?"

"Her last mission, idiot," snapped Casey. "We don't talk about those."

"Casey!" said Sarah and Carina together.

"Blame clueless here," said the Colonel, hiding behind his mug.

"Chuck," said Sarah, while Carina just reached across and planted a fillip on his ear.

"Ow!"

Sarah turned her angry expression on her best (female) (spy) friend. "Carina!"

The redhead stepped back. "I'm just doing what Casey said."

"_Casey…_" Sarah reached for her knives.

"Sarah," said Chuck, putting a hand on her throwing arm. "I'm not clueless, I've seen Last Action Hero. It's my fault.'

Sarah kicked him in the shin, lightly.

"Ow," said Chuck again.

"Dumbass," said his wife.

"Can we look at the phones now please?" said Casey, in genuine pain.

"Hmm, yes," said Chuck loudly. "By all means, let's do our jobs."

"Thank God," said Carina, putting her mug down. "It's not like I want to drink any more of this swill..." She reached into her left pocket and brought out a cell phone. "We found this on the driver."

Chuck barely gave it a glance. "That's the mate to the phone Alex had at the hotel," he said. "Must be the one Verbanski had. Probably how I found this place."

"It's got no battery," said Carina. "How could even you get a signal?"

"New tech," said Chuck. "According to the schematics, it has a booster battery, for broadcast purposes. Save it. We'll have to make sure it gets back to the FBI." As Carina put it back in her pocket, he said, "Casey said phones, plural. I assume there's at least one more?"

Carina pulled a different phone from her other pocket and handed it across.

"No battery either," said Chuck, weighing it in his hand, "But it's the same model as mine." He didn't keep the battery in the phone, of course, so all he had to do was open up the mystery phone and slip his battery inside, turning it on. After an eternity, in electronic terms, the screen lit up. "Uh-oh."

"What's 'uh-oh', Bartowski?"

"This is Morgan's phone." Chuck turned the phone to show them. "He put My Little Pony into a Super Mario Bros. background and made that his desktop."

"Put that away, Bartowski," said Casey, wincing. "That's a crime against humanity."

Chuck turned the phone back around and double-clicked the button, calling all the most recently used apps. "Mail. Clock. Here we go, video."

"A video of what?" asked Casey, as they gathered around to see the screen.

"Let's find out." Chuck pressed 'Play'.

Morgan's face was in the screen, strangely enough, along with another guy that none of them recognized. He was wearing an apron, and the background looked like a deli. "_Are we on_?" said Morgan, to whoever held the phone. "_Okay, well, here we are, with Stan of Stan's Deli, and we, I, have just made a deal that will put this place on the map! I have given Stan the secret recipe for the single greatest deli sandwich ever made. If he sells a hundred of them by the time I leave, I get all of my sandwiches no charge, otherwise, I pay full price plus ten percent. Stan, is that the deal?_" The guy in the apron nodded.

"Oh dear," said Chuck.

"That poor man," said Sarah.

The video continued. "_So, now, here, officially, in front of these witnesses_–" Morgan gestured, and the image moved dizzyingly, to show a bunch of people looking on at his antics before coming back to the center of the action "–_the sandwich challenge begins. And I gotta tell you, Stan, that I am gonna win this challenge. I'll have a hundred people down here in an hour_."

"He will, too," muttered Casey, sipping his swill. "You can't stop him when there's food involved." Carina nodded.

The video continued. "_I'll be talking this sandwich up one side of Vail and down the other_."

"He gets pretty passionate about his food," agreed Chuck.

Casey grunted assent. "He said it was his favorite from his Buy More days."

Chuck's head came up. "Oh no."

The video continued. "_By the time I'm done, the only name that will be on everybody's lips in all of Vail, will be the name of, drumroll please, the _Chuck Bartowski."

* * *

**A/N2 **That was quick.

The Last Action Hero has a little scene in it where a policeman gets caught in a bomb blast and dies, saying, "Two days to retirement." The movie makes fun of a lot of clichés in the Action genre, starting with that one.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I wanted to post this on Saturday, but the failure of a server and the fact that the chapter wasn't done until last night conspired against me. I'm not thrilled with it but I don't know if I ever will be. there isn't a lot of material in Bo to work with. A wasteful and inane piece of stuntcasting, if you ask me, especially since Ms. Derek spends most of it undressing Morgan. I'm trying to keep her out of this story completely.**

**We also pick up the introduction of Nicholas Quinn where we left off last season. **

* * *

"_Welcome home, Clara."_

"_I just opened the door in my underwear!"_

"_You know what comes next." _

"_You can't stop him when there's food involved." _

* * *

Somewhere in the Everglades, two men came to their senses, slowly. The driver was first, when a snake crawled over his arm. He would have moved more, but the pain in his head stopped him, and so he narrowly avoided being bitten. "_Madre de Dios_." He grabbed the snake behind the head and used its twisting body to whack his partner across the face, before tossing the reptile out the window. The snake, not the partner.

The guy in the passenger seat woke screaming. Maybe he had snake issues.

"Quiet, you fool," said the driver. "They have passed us by. We need to get out of here before they come back for us."

"Here?" asked the other man, looking around. If you don't already know where you are, one piece of swamp looks a lot like any other piece of swamp. "Where is here? Where were we going?"

The driver was reluctant to admit he knew no more than his partner, and made an effort to try to remember anything that would satisfy his ego. As he shifted his position, he felt the thick paper of the envelope he kept hidden in his pants. "We have a package to deliver for the boss, idiot. How could you forget such a thing?" He tried the key in the ignition, never thinking about who might have turned the car off in the first place.

* * *

"Miss Volkoff, I heard shots," said Mr. Carmichael, stepping out of the stairwell, pistol trained on Nicholas Quinn. "Who is this man?"

"An ally, Mr. Carmichael, more loyal to me than Mr. Riley here proved to be." Vivian stepped back and indicated her fallen advisor with the gun she held in her hand. "So put your pistol away and take care of this mess, while I confer with Mr. Quinn."

She gestured toward the damaged door to her office. She and Quinn stepped over the body and walked away, leaving Mr. Carmichael to ponder which branch of the household had this responsibility.

Vivian walked straight to her desk, leaving it to her guest to close the door and right a chair to sit in. "Why do I smell melted plastic?" he asked.

"You've a keen nose, Mr. Quinn," said Vivian, seating herself behind the desk. She put the gun down, not facing her visitor's chair directly. "I can only smell the gunpowder." Quinn waited patiently. "A message from an enemy, Mr. Quinn, the kind that destroys not only itself but the computer on which it was played. My man was disposing of it when Riley decided to reveal his true colors." She picked up her letter opener, lying on the desk, and wiped the blood off of it with a tissue before putting it back in its place.

"I understand your anger, Miss Volkoff," said Quinn, noticing the new scar in her desktop. "I've experienced a betrayal or two myself."

"My condolences."

"Miss Volkoff, this isn't a social visit," said Quinn, not wanting her sympathy. He'd cut out the hooks of trust long ago, and he wasn't about to let them catch on him again, under any guise. "The people I represent believe, for reasons unknown to me, that their interests and yours coincide. They are inviting you to meet with them."

"Where?"

"In the United States."

She gusted out a laugh. "Mr. Quinn, I just received a very direct and personal threat from the single greatest agent America has, possibly the greatest on the planet." She didn't notice Quinn's face get any stonier as she continued, "I can assure you that while he is out in the world trying to destroy me, his allies will be keeping watch for me on his home ground." A classic ploy.

"For you alone, perhaps," said Quinn. "But you're not alone anymore, and my employers, like myself, are very capable of keeping what they want hidden, hidden." Certainly he'd never heard of the group Decker claimed to speak for, until Decker spoke to him. "At one time not too long ago, _I_ was the single greatest agent America had, too." Not that he'd earned it. Daniel Shaw's obsessions had left a vacuum at the top. "Destined for great things, but a traitor took my destiny from me, and they sent me back out into the world. I was captured, I was tortured." Rage twisted his face. "I was disavowed, left to rot for over a year in a hole. _In a hole!"_

The shout appeared to take them both by surprise, and he took a second to get himself together.

"And now you're a messenger?" asked Vivian.

"I have an organization in America," snarled Quinn. No, he was not her friend, not anyone's. "Until recently I had one in Europe as well. My current employers are taking advantage of a moment of relative weakness, that's all. I will have my destiny."

She couldn't care less about his 'destiny'. "What happened to your team in Europe, Mr. Quinn?" _Can you really protect me, Mr. Quinn?_

"Several of my clients gathered for a meeting, I was tasked with security. That security was penetrated by the CIA, and my primaries were killed. Worse, someone had evidence of my own involvement, some redheaded bitch named Miller. I sent my team after her, but only after she passed her evidence to someone else, named Rizzo, and I had to go after her myself. I got Rizzo, but the team I sent after Miller never returned."

Vivian didn't doubt that for a moment. "Carina Miller works for Agent Charles," she said. Quinn may not be her friend, but if she could make him her enemy's enemy that would do just as well. "Who did you say penetrated your clients' meeting?"

"I didn't say," said Quinn. "It was an agent named Walker. Sarah Walker." _With your father's help._

"She works for Agent Charles, too."

"I want her." _ The things she could do, under _my_ control!_ He would control her, if he could get her away from Agent Charles for even just a minute. Then, with her in hand, he could destroy Charles and bring his destiny full circle.

_You can have her, for all of me. _Agent Miller was at that meeting? She had to be, to get evidence of Quinn. How did she know? Frost, or Charles? No matter, for her purposes it had to be him. "It appears we have a common enemy, Mr. Quinn." Nicholas Quinn would be her enemy as well, if he ever learned of her father's involvement, and her own. "Only his name isn't really Charles."

* * *

On the way back to DC…

"Anything, Casey?"

John had lost the coin toss, so he was the one flipping through the photo roll on Morgan's phone. "Just the world's biggest collection of selfies. And what is that on his head?"

"Let me see." Carina took a close look at the tiny screen. "Oh my god, fake dreadlocks?"

The real ones weren't bad enough? "How could he stoop so low?"

"Not to mention being on the bunny trail," said Carina, pointing to a sign in the background. "Those kids could be scarred for life."

"Please," said Casey, looking at the overweight, overbundled blobs of dough she was calling kids. "Those yuppie larva could use a good scarring, that's what life's all about. You get hit, you scar. You fall down, you get up again. If you do it right, eventually you turn into a real person, worth having around." Instead of pampered aristos who won't ever be interesting in their entire lives. He flipped a finger, dismissing the lot of them.

"You've been a parent for what? A year?"

Like he needed a reminder. "If I'd wrapped Alex in bubble wrap all her life, or Kath, you think she'd be what she is now? You can protect your kids too much, you know?"

Carina's face went utterly, horribly still, for a bit. "No, Casey, I don't know. I never will."

_Good move, dumb-ass! _won out over _But how was I to know? _since the latter was just too whiny to listen to, even alone in his own head. "Sorry," said Casey, and he was. He'd been a father for a year, and already he couldn't imagine a life without Alex in it. He could remember a time when he neither had a daughter, or even the possibility of a daughter, but he didn't want to think about those days. Those were the only days Carina had.

"Don't be," said Carina, her face coming alive again. "You didn't know, and anyway it sounds too creepy coming from you."

Casey discovered a new use for his grunts, filling in a space where he didn't know what to say.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah strolled through the airport concourse in Colorado hand in hand, vapid smiles on their faces while behind dark shades their eyes moved ceaselessly, panning for enemies. Every so often one or the other of them would move their fingers 1-2-1-2, except one time when they both tried to do it simultaneously, and their smiles became a little less vapid.

"How are you feeling?" asked Chuck.

"Exposed and endangered," said Sarah, her smile edging on plastic.

"So, same as usual?"

Brittle plastic. "Do you remember how Casey felt, putting on his dress uniform for the first time in a long while, to walk me down the aisle?"

When he thought about the wedding, Chuck remembered a vision in white, but if he worked at it he could make his perfect memory look a little bit sideways to the man on whose arm she walked. "I remember he said it felt like it had shrunk."

"It didn't shrink, Chuck, he got larger. Looser. Just like I have." She squeezed his hand. _Like I will._ "I could feel it, as we drove away from that compound, like a spy suit that I'd managed to take off for a while and had to put back on again. Familiar but not comfortable."

Suddenly Chuck had an image in his head of a wardrobe, with a suit of armor in it, named Carmichael. A shout of _"You don't need me!" _rang in his memory. He shook his head at the sudden double apparition of sight and sound.

"Did you just flash?" asked Sarah.

"No," he said, holding her hand tightly. "No, just a…memory. A dream. A memory of a dream. Spy suits and armor."

Sarah remembered reading those reports, and laughed. "Here I was going to ask if you knew what I meant, and it seems I finally managed to understand what _you_ meant."

"My condolences."

"No, Chuck," she said, pulling on his hand to make him stop. She lifted her other hand to his cheek. "We shouldn't be sad, we should be grateful. I should be grateful, and I am. How can I remove something I don't even know I'm wearing?" She liked having enemies she could fight.

On their way out of the building they passed another couple coming in, intently discussing their business trip, to the point where they didn't even notice Chuck or Sarah. The man bumped into Chuck, and only Sarah's firm grip kept her husband on his feet. The man also helped to steady him, apologizing profusely for the incident, and the two couples parted ways.

Chuck lifted his hand to adjust his glasses.

"Well?" asked Sarah, when they were well away.

Chuck pointed to a car rental agency, and they headed that way as he put his hands in his pockets, where he left the note he'd gotten from the other agent. "Mr. and Mrs. Michael Carmichael have reservations at the Golden Peak Resort in Vail."

"Michael Carmichael?" said Sarah, both outraged and amused. "Whose idea was that? What parents named Carmichael would name a son Michael?"

"The idea was probably Carina's, and you should really count your blessings," said Chuck. "Otherwise Michelle would probably be _your_ name, instead of my imaginary mother's."

Sarah was lost. "Your who?"

"My–" Chuck stopped himself. "You _did_ hear about what happened in Marrakesh, right?"

* * *

"You want me to do _what_ with these?" asked Manoosh, flipping through the images on the phone. "I thought the Intersect was supposed to help the Host interpret _intelligence_."

Casey grunted with amusement. "You should have known him before. This is the improved version."

"Casey…" said Carina tiredly.

"How am I lying?"

"Holy Hoth System, Batman," said Manoosh. "Check out the cold-weather gear on that babe!"

Casey had his hand on the littler man's shoulder–_Grimes has no business hanging around with _babes–and was pulling him away from the screen before he realized who the 'babe' in question had to be. "Oh, her," he said dismissively. "She's in a lot of these."

"What is she, his ski instructor? They always have the hot ones in those places," said Manoosh, trying to get a better look. "I think I could use a vacation myself."

Casey pulled back harder. How can such smart people be so stupid? "That's his girlfriend, numb-nuts."

"Yeah, right. That Neanderthal couldn't score a _Homo Superior_ like her if he saved the President," sneered Manoosh. "And besides, that's not how evolution works. You've been watching too much Land That Time Forgot…"

"He served with her father, honorably," said Casey, tightening his grip. "Saved his life at least once, and earned two commendations for valor."

Manoosh tried to drop out of the painful hold without success. "That's just luck."

"True. But you know what's _not_ luck?" Casey let go. "Selling secret advanced technology to the highest bidder, that's not luck."

"That wasn't me," said Manoosh, rubbing his shoulder as he backed away. "That was an alternate reality version of me."

Casey grunted noncommittally, and Carina stepped in to save him. Not that she minded him looking stupid occasionally, but that was a partner thing. In front of the assets a bit of solidarity was called for. "Well, how about the current reality version of you get started on the upload? The sooner Chuck gets it the sooner we can get back to our mission."

Manoosh shrugged. "Don't know what your rush is, you still have to get the glasses to him."

"He's got glasses," said Carina. "You had them out on the table, so I snagged them."

A pair on the table? _Why were–?_ Casey cleared his throat imperatively and Manoosh clicked the mouse to start the encryption.

Something about glasses. "You gave him a pair for the download, didn't you?"

* * *

The desk clerk at the Golden Peak had a package for Mr. Carmichael. In the privacy of their room, Sarah attached a ticker to the window as Chuck opened the package, taking out a computer. His bag had a set of cables, while the glasses were hidden in plain sight. Sarah plugged the earpieces into the cable connections, as Chuck set up a secure connection with the network.

Sarah handed him the business end of the cable connector, so that he could plug into the machine and pull the upload as soon as it was available. Sarah's phone started to ring as they sat waiting, so she took her phone away to listen to whatever the caller–Carina–had to say.

The bar reached one hundred percent and Chuck plugged in.

Sarah heard the sound and turned back. "Chuck, wait a minute."

"Too late," he said. Once the upload started they couldn't stop it without forcing Manoosh to regenerate the whole thing, which wasn't a big deal, but the glasses would be ruined, and they only had one pair. "Is there a problem?"

Sarah put the phone away. "Manoosh just reminded her that we didn't have a download pair. We have to hold off the upload until we can remove it again."

"Oh." Chuck looked at the hookup. Inconvenient, but nothing to be done about it now. They'd just have to rely on good old-fashioned spy work until their teammates could get there from DC with a download pair. Not a bad thing, keep them in practice. "Not a problem. Once it's done we'll just have the hotel store them in the vault."

* * *

Casey moved his finger over the screen, pretending to be interested in the photos. "I just hope there's something useful in all these, make the pain of having Morgan's life in his head worth it."

"I think this is the part where Alex would say 'Dad', but since she's not here I'll have to do it." She glared at her partner. "_Casey_. You better learn to be nicer to Morgan, I get the feeling he's going to be in your life for a long time."

She sounded snarky and superior. _That's more like it. _"Can't be as bad as uploading the video, when you see as much as Chuck does."

"Chuck won't be looking at Morgan, Casey, he'll be looking at everything around Morgan. Aside from spewing the name of his favorite sandwich all over town while somehow managing to forget in the heat of the contest that it was the name of an international agent who also happens to be his best friend…" Carina paused to take a breath. "Where was I?"

"You were about to say that he's very loyal to Chuck." And honest, although that might just be stupidity.

"Right, he's very loyal to Chuck, so he's the one thing Chuck won't be paying attention to. If I can see the opportunity Morgan created, you can be sure Agent Charles has. We've got some cheese on the ground in Colorado, now all we have to do is build a trap around it.'

* * *

"A sandwich?" asked Vivian. "Named for America's foremost agent? What an absurd idea."

"Absurd or not, it appears to be the case," said Quinn, scanning the report. "A trip to Colorado might be in order."

"It's almost certainly a trap."

"I see no signs of it."

"Then it has to be. The only traps Agent Charles makes are the ones you can't see."

* * *

**A/N2 Lots of family stuff, and a few plot points that hopefully you won't see until the time comes, and then you'll, "Ah, of course..."**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** Maybe it's because I'm reposting season 1, but I find myself harking back to a lot of my early Chuck ideas. Not that that's a bad thing.

* * *

"_Why do I smell melted plastic?"_

"_It appears we have a common enemy."_

"_I should be grateful, and I am." _

"_What an absurd idea." _

* * *

Vivian Volkoff looked at her wardrobe with distaste. The items were all clean and well-mended, if mended at all. Which was not much, her life had never been particularly stressful on clothes, and her funds had always been sufficient to allow her to trade in old for new when needed. Trading in new for old grated.

Not a power suit in the lot.

Vivian Volkoff was _persona non grata_ in the United States, but Vivian MacArthur was a nonentity. She could travel freely, and attend meetings in out-of-the-way venues with other low-level executives of unknown companies. Odd that such freedom could feel so confining, or perhaps that was just the price of power.

That price had just risen sharply. Her father had lived, perpetually aware of an Agent X that would someday destroy him, but he at least had the luxury of never knowing who or where that Agent was, or when he would strike. God _damn_ Riley! His fault that Vivian had no such blissful ignorance. Thanks to him, her doom was now actively stalking her. Already she was getting reports of facilities lost, key personnel dead, shipments missing. Agent Charles had no reason to spare her, and less reason to be quick or merciful about it.

He should have struck first, struck hard. Perhaps he didn't think she would diminish herself this way. If so it was his first mistake.

She needed allies, so she folded herself into her old clothes to get some. "Are you ready, Mr. Carmichael?" He'd better be. She'd not spend a single instant in this dowdy get-up longer than she had to.

He appeared in the doorway, looking not very different at all, the freedom of powerlessness. He would be believable as her associate, rather than her servant. "Yes, Miss Vol–I mean, Miss MacArthur."

Good. He not only remembered who she was supposed to be, he knew who she still was. "Get Mr. Quinn, and we'll be off."

* * *

Somewhere in Colorado, dark, warm, and finally still…

"And that is why I prefer to travel from East to West on these missions of ours," said Chuck, as they lay in bed, catching their breaths.

"You prefer your delight in the pre-dawn hours, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Hell yes, Mrs. Carmichael," said Chuck, "Always get the most important things done first."

She rolled over to partially cover him, murmuring happily. "Rainbows…"

"And besides," continued his mouth on its own, "More often than not we're treating our injuries or soaking in the tub at night, kind of kills the mood, if you ask me."

"Hmm, I don't know," said Sarah, her hands wandering. "I seem to recall a few memorable massages."

"Ah!" said Chuck loudly at something she did under the covers. "Again? Is this a pregnancy thing?" He'd heard rumors to that effect.

She chuckled softly in his ear. "I'd say it's a naked-husband-comfy-bed thing, early in the day with no one to–"

The phone buzzed.

Chuck's head fell back on his pillow. "Woman, when will you learn to keep your mouth shut?"

_Zzzz._

She raised herself up, looking down on him. "Shut? I thought you liked it when I–"

_Zzzz._

Breasts. Phone. Breasts. Phone. Chuck covered his eyes. "Shoot me now."

_Zzzz._

"Bang." Sarah put her hand on the phone, but didn't pick it up. "Casey or Morgan?"

No hesitation. "Casey, of course." Morgan could only focus on one shiny thing at a time, and right now that was Alex. Good for Alex, better for them.  
Sarah picked up the phone. Chuck watched her school her features into her standard professional mask, the one she only took off for him. "Hey partner, what's up?"

* * *

"Mr. Clyde Decker," said Quinn, "Miss Vivian MacArthur, as promised." The other two men in the room weren't introduced to anybody. The short scarred man glared at Mr. Carmichael with undisguised hostility.

Mr. Decker, if that was his real name, looked even less comfortable in his not-so-expensive suit than she was. He handed a folder to Miss Volkoff's escort. "Mr. Quinn, your destiny awaits, as promised." Quinn snatched the folder and moved out of earshot as Decker turned to his guests. "Miss MacArthur, do you know who your associate is?" He didn't offer to shake hands, or even nod his head.

She felt welcome. "Yes, I do, Mr. Decker. Do you?" She sat, and they followed suit. Anybody watching would think they were all courteous gentlemen. Tommy handed Decker a ticker and he set it on the table as Vivian said, "Mr. Carmichael–"

"Carmichael?"

"–has been in my service since I went to Macau to claim my father's assets. He's immensely valuable to me, so I would prefer if you kept your hands away from your guns, please."

Decker clasped his hands in front of him, clearing his throat gruffly at Tommy to do likewise. "Our apologies, Miss Macarthur, but Agent Carmichael was legendary for working through others."

"It sounds like he's dead."

"That could be one of his ploys."

"That's as may be, but this man is _my_ man, is that clear?"

"Crystal," said Decker, who only saw what he wanted to see. "Shall we get on with the purpose of this meeting?"

"If you would."

"The people I represent have been working behind the scenes for years, building an infrastructure to unite and solidify the economies of the world in a single set of hands. Their hands." Somehow he managed to say that without sounding silly.

Vivian started to rise. "I've seen the movie, Mr. Decker. It never ends well."

"We wrote the movie, Miss Volkoff," said Decker. She stood, waiting for more, so he gave it to her. "We go to considerable effort to make it look as stupid, or as difficult, as possible, so that no one who thought about it at all would believe how easily it could be done. But we live in a world of illusion, a virtual world, that most people are all too happy to take for truth. Power belongs to those who don't. We are offering you a share in that power."

How very nice of them. She sat again. "In exchange for what?"

He seemed embarrassed. "At the moment, money will do quite nicely."

She laughed. "World domination within your grasp, yet you hesitate to rob a bank?"

Decker's hand moved, touching a folded copy of some local newspaper. Most likely a prop; she couldn't imagine him caring about any of the stories it had to tell. "Bank robbers get noticed, Vivian, but world domination is so much easier when no one is aware of it, even after it's happened. Until recently we had our own sources of funding, but they have been stripped from us and, for reasons of secrecy, we can't get them back. So we must…reach out."

_To those who would keep your secret_. "Why me?"

"Because your father is Alexei Volkoff." He said it like it meant something.

All it meant to her was that she had wasted enough time on this…nonsense. "He _was_ Volkoff, as big an illusion as any in this world."

He seemed to find her vehemence…satisfying, and leaned in close. "No, Miss Volkoff, not an illusion, not a lie. Alexei Volkoff was created, not an accident. The science that created him is the science that will give us the world. Coffee?"

* * *

Morning, in a popular deli…

They waited until the morning rush faded, which took a while. "Good morning, Stan."

The guy behind the counter turned and squinted. "Do I know you? You ain't from another one of them news stations, are you? Not another lawyer?"

"Lawyer?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah, from that girl in Burbank, trying to claim copyright infringement. It's just a sandwich, for God's sake."

"Oh," said Sarah. "No."

"Good," said Stan. He winked at Sarah. "Be a shame if a gal as pretty as you was a lawyer."

"Well, Stan, I _am _a lawyer, but I do dabble in lingerie modeling from time to time."

Stan blinked. "Really?"

Sarah burst out laughing. "No, Stan, not a model, not a lawyer."

Stan laughed too. "Hey, buddy," he said to Chuck, "This one's a keeper."

Chuck held up his left hand. "Kept, Stan."

"Lucky bastard. What can I do for you?"

Chuck pulled a phone from his pocket, and clicked play. "Well, Stan, we'd like to talk to you about this, if you don't mind."

Stan didn't waste any time looking at the video. He stopped smiling, too. "Look, buddy, it's like I told them other guys, I don't know him. I haven't got any idea where he is."

* * *

At the DC Buy More…

"Hey Alex, what are you doing here?" asked Morgan in surprise.

She lifted a package. "Guy in the office rolled over my headphones with his chair. You?"

"You probably won't believe it," said Morgan. "You remember how I lost my phone in Colorado? Somebody mailed it back to me!" He pulled it out of his pocket to show her.

"Didn't you just buy a replacement?"

"Well, that's what I'm doing here."

"You've been using it for a week, Morgan," she said with some snark. "I doubt they'll let you return it now."

"Oh ye of little faith," said Morgan. "I was a greenshirt for seven years, _and_ I have my sales receipt. Watch and be amazed."

They turned to watch a tall man walk up to the counter, trying to get the attention of the man, or maybe that was a woman, sitting behind it. "I'd like to return this blender."

"I'm on my break," s/he said, fiddling with a phone.

"I have my receipt."

"Bored of you."

"Are you in a serious relationship?"

"What?" said the androgynous Herder. "You're getting pretty personal for a blender return."

"Do you love her?" asked the man. "Him?"

"You better go talk to Big Michelle."

Alex shuddered. "Whoa. Spooky."

Morgan took a step backward. "So I have two phones. I can always use a spare…"

* * *

Chuck put the phone away. "Somebody else looking for Morgan?"

"_That's_ his name," said Stan triumphantly. "Morgan! Never could remember it."

"They were looking for him but didn't know his name?" said Sarah.

Stan shrugged. "I don't think his name was the one they cared about, they seemed more interested in the Chuck, wanted to know what he knew about it. I figured they worked for that girl in LA."

"I suppose they might," said Chuck casually, not believing it for a second.

"Hey, who do you work for?" asked Stan, belatedly suspicious.

"Us? We work for a restaurant chain on the East Coast," said Chuck. "Mr. Grimes manages one of our sites. Apparently while he was here he left a lot of cards, in addition to the sandwich recipe, and that's kicked up some activity. Corporate sent us to look into it and see if we can capitalize on it further." Money. Always a good excuse.

"You already got the video. I got some clippings here, if you want them," said Stan. They also had the name of his deli in them. Maybe he could get in on a little East Coast action himself. "Sales have been through the roof."

"That's great, Stan," said Sarah sincerely, as Chuck looked around the counter area for a camera.

Stan didn't notice, not with Sarah smiling at him. "Tell you what, I'll give you some numbers, if you promise to mention me in your chain back east. Maybe that'll get this LA girl off my back."

Not if Lou was the same combative entrepreneur Chuck remembered, but he wasn't about to tell Stan that. Since the whole campaign was imaginary, what was the harm? Now they had an excuse to stay, and snag some camera footage if there was any. Once Casey and Carina got there, he could look over Stan's customer base through an Intersect lens while they collected hotel guest lists. "That'll be great, Stan, thanks a lot. We're at the Golden Peak, just ask for Carmichael."

* * *

At a certain meeting, over tea…

"Are you saying my father was some sort of…construct?"

"Alexei Volkoff was an artificial personality created accidentally by Hartley Winterbottom," said Decker, spreading peanut butter on his bagel. "He was part of a team developing a method to bypass learning by direct upload of memories. He tested it on himself."

'A form of amnesia' indeed. "And became my father?"

"Eventually," said Decker, cruelly casual. He took a bite of his bagel and made her wait until he finished it. She sipped tea, and pondered her trainer's lessons on the breaking of horses. "We watched Alexei for years. The technology was promising but his instability was troubling. How much was from the memories, how much was inherent to the machine? Or Hartley himself? Could it be controlled, or reversed? We couldn't act until we knew."

"And now you know?"

"But that wasn't the only thing," said Decker, taking another long bite. "Alexei may not have had Hartley's personality but he had his abilities. The Hydra database was even more interesting than Alexei himself, and of course the Norseman."

_Of course the Norseman_. A secret untraceable weapon, to defend a secret virtual empire.

Decker wiped his face delicately with a napkin, not practicing good manners so much as mocking them. "We approached him about both, but he turned us down. We would have stolen them from him, but he had to expect that, and he figured out a way to hide them so completely no one could ever find either one. We were at an impasse, until Agent Charles came along. His solution was admirably final, if nothing else."

"He killed my father, and destroyed Hydra."

"Wrong," said Decker. "On both counts." He looked at his watch. "Gosh, look at the time." He stood up, and Tommy with him. "We can help you get your revenge, Vivian. Kill Charles and all those close to him, if that's what you want. But isn't it a better revenge to succeed, in spite of him?"

Control the world, in a coup that even Agent Charles wouldn't know about? No. "Yes, it's better," said Vivian, standing as well. "But I want him to know it."

"No one can be allowed to know."

Vivian shrugged. "No one alive." There were unmarked graves a-plenty already, she was sure.

For the first time, Decker smiled.

* * *

Quinn drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on his precious file, contents already committed to memory but he kept the physical totem anyway. He liked to touch it, stroke it. Drum his fingers on it. His destiny. The Intersect.

It should have been his, would have been if Larkin hadn't stolen it. Wouldn't have been in a hole for 378 days. _In. A. Hole! _Wouldn't have been broken, but broken was better than dead, which is what happened to everyone else they tried to give the Intersect to, when they rebuilt it. But not him. Obviously he was meant to have it. Destined.

Not Larkin, he'd made sure of that. Made sure the Ring knew about him, his plans. The Ring would have stolen his destiny back and killed the man who stole it, but Larkin didn't die fast enough. He destroyed the Intersect first, or so the Ring said, but now they were gone too.

He remained. His destiny remained.

But just because it was destiny didn't mean he had to be stupid about it, and even destiny could use a little help now and then. Agent Walker worked for Agent Charles. Agent Charles was really Agent Bartowski, and there was a new sandwich called the Bartowski in Vail, Colorado. That couldn't be a coincidence. Just like it couldn't be a coincidence that Decker's meeting was in Denver. Whatever connection Bartowski had to Vail, he'd find it, and then he'd find Walker.

She would get his destiny for him.

* * *

Once out of the deli Chuck got on the phone immediately. "Alex? Hi, yeah…we just found out something you need to know. You remember that deal Morgan made, about the sandwich? Yeah, that one. Well, we're in Vail now…I know, it's supposed to be your job, but…yes, we're just checking…Look, there might be some danger to Morgan…I thought it might. We talked to Stan, he said other men were asking about him, and what he might know about me. So keep an eye out there. Right, I'll be calling them next. Very good. Right. As soon as–Yes, as soon as we find anything we'll call you. Yes. Bye." He ended the call and turned to Sarah. "Now who does she remind me of?"

"The answer better be me," said Sarah. "Don't forget to call the restaurant, and give them a heads-up too."

"I'm doing it," said Chuck, already entering the number. "Hi, this is Mr. Underhill, I'd like to book a table, maybe two…No, I don't know how many, it's very up in the air at this point. But if it's going to happen I expect it will be in the near future. I'll let you know. Thanks."

"Underhill?"

"It's either that or Gandalf."

"You're such a nerd."

* * *

The idea of putting cameras inside phones, like most other ideas, has its upsides and its downsides within the intelligence community. Sure, they could now take photos of classified documents, personnel, and installations far more brazenly than they used to, and they could even send those images to their home bases almost instantly. On the other hand, somebody else could do the same thing to them.

Case in point, a surreptitiously taken photo of Chuck and Sarah, dispatched who knows where with no names, no dates, just a location, and an instruction. "Come quickly."

* * *

**A/N2 Hmm, I seem to be in a fluffy mood today. Not sure why I wrote that Charah sexy scene.**

**A/N3 Whew, came to my senses and deleted it. Don't worry, it was just cuddling and sexy banter, you won't miss it.**

**A/N4 Oh, what the hell…**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N **I have no objection to Quinn as a villain, just that he was too sudden and underdeveloped to be the Ultimate Big Bad. As one of a set of Little Bads, he's actually quite useful.

* * *

"_Always get the most important things done first."_

"_It never ends well."_

"_Just ask for Carmichael." _

"_I expect it will be in the near future." _

* * *

Carina didn't throw herself into the chair, as she usually did. "You ever think about giving all this up? Becoming a civilian again?" she asked, as they suffered the long flight to Colorado in the otherwise-empty jet. She didn't want to jinx Sarah's last mission, but she just had to talk about it with someone. Hopefully up in the air the jinx demons wouldn't hear them.

_This life? _"You mean, going places I'll never see, meeting people I'll never know?" asked Casey, not looking up from his magazine. "Working with people I'd rather kill, killing people I'm not allowed to hate first?"

"Yeah, like that," said Carina, taking a sip of her coffee, trying to scald the taste of that Florida swamp muck out from where it clung stubbornly to the inside of her mouth. When he put it like that it didn't seem like much.

Casey turned the page. "Nope, can't say I thought about it much at all. Guess I always hoped for a soldier's death, hopefully not a spy's death. In action, honorable."

"Arlington, yeah, I remember. Good luck with that." She saluted him with her mug.

Grunt. "Pretty sure Alex would rather I didn't."

She just got used to _having _ a father. "Pretty sure you're right." That's why agents weren't supposed to fall in love. Easier not to worry about losing when you have nothing to lose. Not many can love so powerfully that they can overcome that.

Casey raised his gaze, glaring at her. "What's _your_ angle?"

"Well, you know, can't have my own family, so I have to stick my nose into somebody else's."

"So bother Bartowski. Two babies, no waiting." If Ellie let's you within a hundred yards.

Carina hummed _uh-uh_ into her coffee. "They've got family like crazy over there, you'd think after twenty years apart they'd know how to do it, but no, they're like human crazy glue. How could I possibly twist their little minds with someone always looking over my shoulder? Whereas Alex only has you, she's ripe for a little mind-twisting…"

Casey almost hated to ruin her hopes. Almost, except that he really rather enjoyed it. "We watch _Downton Abbey_ together. Alex' idea, but I got into it."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all," said Casey, twisting the knife just a bit more. "The bombs they drop on Edwardian convention? Explosive."

"So you're saying the maid laying out the coffee spoons with the dinner service was intentional?"

"You caught that?"

"Well, duh! How can you flout expectations if you don't know what they are? Not a housemaid, though. I've always thought of myself as more the 'scandal-plagued heiress' type, don't you think?"

* * *

Vail, Colorado. Quinn drove slowly through the town, getting a feel for the place. Plenty of scenery, lots of activity. Throngs he could hide in, treeline he could shoot from. Except he didn't know what he was supposed to be shooting at.

He'd had plenty of time on the road to figure out how to fix that. "Hey, Stan."

Stan took one look at his un-skier-like outfit. "Not another one."

"Not another what, Stan?"

Something about his tone set Stan off, the wrong way. "No more interviews."

"I'm not looking for an interview, Stan," said Quinn, his tone hard. "I'm here to get a Chuck Bartowski, with a side of hot blonde." He held up a photo of Sarah. A bit of a long shot, but anybody who worked for Agent Charles had to know and would need to check, and she wasn't all that forgettable.

Stan was no good at trying to hide his reactions. "Don't know her."

Bingo. His destiny hovered. "I'm sorry, Stan," said Quinn, pulling a silenced gun from his pocket. "My friend here couldn't hear you."

Stan flinched. "Are you crazy?"

Quinn appeared to think it over. "I think so, Stan," he said sadly. "You go through the kind of things that I've gone through, you'd be a little crazy too." He shot twice, and the two coffee urns on either side of Stan started draining on to the floor. "And clumsy."

"All right!" yelled Stan. No need to make a mess, and now he was going to have to buy two new urns. "They're at the Golden Peak, name of Carmichael."

Quinn smiled. "Carmichael, huh? You know, Stan, that's almost funny."

Stan smiled in relief. Quinn shot him in the head. On the way out he grabbed some snacks, in case he had to shadow the hotel and got hungry.

* * *

Chuck pulled his rental car into the lot, glad to be back, ready to do what he did best. "Stan said he might forward us some numbers," he said as he got out, in case anyone should overhear. "Let me ask at the desk."

Sarah covered the door and Carina checked some of the side rooms, especially the lounge–faux rustic, ugh–while Casey checked the windows overlooking the lot.

At the desk Chuck asked the clerk a totally different question, screened from observation by his team. "The name's Carmichael. I left an item in the safe until I got back." He showed her his room key.

She checked the list. "Yes sir, Mr. Carmichael, I'll just get the manager."

* * *

Quinn watched as the team surrounding Agent Walker fanned out in front of the desk. The tall one had to be Charles, the other two he dismissed as muscle.

As if sensing he was being watched, the big guy turned, casually, appearing to inspect the rack of local sites while really looking out the windows. Quinn kept his eyes down, watching the charade on the screen of his tablet, down in his lap. He reached out, casually, and got a cookie.

When the big guy turned back as the manager arrived, Quinn dared to raise his eyes and see for himself. These little cameras couldn't catch everything. The manager handed Charles a case and his team gathered around as Charles opened it, not because he thought it might be compromised but simply because it would look odd if he didn't.

Behind Quinn, doors slammed, four of them in quick succession. He checked his mirrors. Four men in long coats walked away from four cars. Time to go.

Quinn checked his watch, put away his food and folded his paper, just like any employee finishing up his break. _This complicates things._

* * *

The leader of the men on the rooftops relayed the information to the man in the comfort of the lead car. He called it in. "The information is correct, they are all here."

"Funds are being transferred," said the man on the other end. Always reward your informants promptly. "We only want Carmichael. Kill the rest."

* * *

Quinn stopped in another parking lot, looking for someone just getting out of his car, so he could acquire another set of plates. With that important detail out of the way, he found himself a quiet spot and pulled out his tablet, setting the video at the beginning. _"Stan said he might forward us some numbers."_ Quinn listened to the sound of sirens in the distance. Not going to happen.

He zoomed in on Agent Charles, and got his second good laugh of the day. No wonder Decker had been so suspicious! No wonder Vivian valued him so highly. Lots of ideas for devious schemes presented themselves to Quinn, at least. Unfortunately, he couldn't make any of them work without her permission and he didn't know how to get that.

He let the recording play, watching Agent Walker According to Vivian she was married to Charles, and she looked it. He could use that.

Charles opened the box, and Quinn did whatever he could to get some idea of what was in it. Black and shiny, oddly shaped. It looked like a pair of…sunglasses?

He reached for his file, just to be sure.

* * *

The uploads went as they usually do, until Chuck started to come out of it. Casey and Carina looked on with some concern as he raised his hands to his head, as if in some pain. "This is just… incredible."

"What is, Chuckles?"

"What do you mean, 'what is it'?" snapped Sarah. "Isn't it obvious he's in pain?"

"Butt out, Bartowski," said Casey. Sarah turned toward him but already had his hands up. "We've got a bet riding on this."

It took a second, but…"You bet on an upload? What for?"

Casey shrugged. "That's the bet."

"Come on, Chuck," said Carina, slapping her hands on the table. "Win this one for the redheaded chicks. I need a new coat a lot more than Casey needs a new gun."

"No you don't," said Casey. "I've seen your closets." He checked everyone's security periodically, and they checked his. So far only Sarah never lost, but they gave the credit for that to her cyber-geek husband.

"Not recently, I'm guessing," said Carina. "I donate regularly to Fashion Models Anonymous."

Chuck groaned, dropping his hands but looking at no one. "It's like time-lapse photography of the sun rising and setting around Morgan's head."

Casey smirked at Carina. "Told you."

* * *

"Have you made contact?" asked Quinn, using every trick in the CIA playbook to keep his voice steady.

"Please," said the woman on the other end of the call. "He was fawning all over me. My hand is covered with slobber."

"Things have moved faster than anticipated." The Intersect, his destiny, was in Vail, within his grasp. "I need leverage. Grab him tonight."

"He'll be at the restaurant tonight."

"Well, then grab him at the restaurant!" Quinn killed the connection in fury. How hard could that _be_, for God's sake.

* * *

Back at the hotel…

The phone rang, showing Sarah's name, and Chuck put it on speaker. "You got the recordings?"

She sighed. "It's a wash on the footage, Chuck. Stan's dead, and the police have already confiscated the tapes."

"Robbery?"

"Doesn't look it. Shots on either side and then one to the head."

"Two to make him talk and one to shut him up," said Casey. "Wonder what it was about."

"Probably not a sandwich."

"What else could it be in this damn town?"

"You didn't see anything in the upload, Chuck?" Sarah hated for his suffering to be in vain.

"A couple of faces I recognized, no permanent affiliations," he said. "And a woman in white. I didn't recognize her but I feel like I should somehow. Looks like another dead end."

"Not yet," said Sarah, "Stan had our name and location on a pad, so expect a visit from the police."

"You gave him your names?" Casey sounded disgusted. He got up, moving between Chuck and the door, just on general principles.

"It was part of our cover," said Chuck. "Sarah smiled at him and he got all helpful, not _our_ idea."

"In this business a helpful civilian is a dead civilian."

"Not always," said Sarah

Casey couldn't deny it, but still…"It's the way to bet." He heard the sound of slowing cars and slamming doors from outside. "Heads up, sounds like the boys in blue have arrived." He looked into the lot and saw…four cars? "What the hell?"

A herd of elephants came down the hall.

"Chuck! Incoming!""

* * *

Sarah heard the start of automatic weapons fire, but one of the bullets must have hit the phone, because it suddenly cut out. On the other hand, she could hear it perfectly well when she rolled the window down. If Casey had a machine gun, not a very big 'if', he still only had the one. In seconds, the steady stream was replaced by single shots.

The lobby, when she got there, had been abandoned, walls and desk chewed up with what had to be spillover from Casey's weapon. Hopefully there wasn't too much collateral damage in the other direction. She ran down the hall to support her partners. "Casey? Chuck?"

Seven men lay on the floor, two of them in stolen police uniforms. Some had darts in their necks, elbows, or knees. Some had assumed that just because a vest was called bulletproof it was. Casey had a vest, too, and a table to crouch behind. "Casey! Where's Chuck?"

Casey pointed up, and she looked where he pointed.

Chuck had braced himself against the ceiling with his legs and one hand, leaving the other hand free to shoot with. He dropped to the floor and swept his wife into his arms.

Casey righted the table and picked up the computer, anything to avoid having to look. "Who are these guys?"

Chuck knelt and rolled them over, looking at their faces, but the Intersect gave him nothing. "Local talent, I'd guess."

"Not very talented."

"Were you hit?" asked Sarah.

"What kind of a question is that?" asked Casey, sounding offended.

"Well, you do get shot a lot."

Offense turned to smugness. "Not as much as I get shot _at_."

Sarah gave up. Nothing wrong with Casey. "Is this all of them?"

"Don't think so," said Casey, checking the window. One of the cars was gone. "Nope."

Sarah ran a hand through her hair. "Great." She heard the sound of many, many sirens approaching, and put her gun on the table. "Looks like I'm giving a statement after all."

* * *

He drove like a wild man, turning at random, no goal in his mind other than to lose the car and get away. Eight on two odds, and they _lost_. This Carmichael guy was supposed to be just rental meat, nowhere near good enough to take out his entire team. He wasn't even there! Just the one guy behind the table, but even so all his men fell like flies. What was this Carmichael, a ghost?

Eventually he got to a section of town he recognized, and he pulled into a lot to switch vehicles.

The inside had been polished already, and he kept his gloves on, so he opened the door and stood, ow! A bullet must have clipped him. Not too bad, no blood on the seat that he could see, but he had no time to look. He slapped a hand over the spot of blood so it wouldn't be too obvious as he walked/hobbled over to the other car.

He took a quick look around, making himself look guilty as he checked to see if there was anyone there to see him looking guilty. All the excitement was elsewhere, and all the sightseers with it, so he opened the door and slid into the front seat.

The barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his head, and he froze. "You guys are idiots, you know that?" asked Nicholas Quinn. "Let me talk to your boss."

* * *

Sarah came back with Carina in tow, copies of hotel logs safely digitized for the Intersect. The officers were relieved to see her DEA ID, something that was allowed to operate in-country, even if she hadn't fired a shot. In spite of the chaos, Sarah noticed something missing. "Where's Chuck?"

"One of the detectives took him away for a private debrief," said Casey. He looked around, and tapped one of the suits on the shoulder. "Where'd the other detective go?"

The suit looked confused. "What other detective?"

* * *

Quinn pushed the laundry cart through the doors with a bang. The loading dock hadn't attracted the attention of law enforcement, and the last thug standing waited in his getaway vehicle. Quinn threw the cloths out of the cart. "Never let a bad guy get away," he said to his unconscious victim. He lifted Chuck up and dumped him in the trunk. "And that's how it's done," he said to the driver as he got in. "That's my end. Now you get me Walker. You can have the rest."

* * *

A few hours later…

The phone in the hotel room rang once, bringing an end to the confusion. "Someone get Mrs. uh, Charles."

Sarah pushed her way through to the front before he was done speaking, and put the phone on speaker. "Hello?"

"I've got your team leader so this is what's going to happen," said a man's voice. "You're in possession of some highly-classified hardware. You're gonna leave your cop friends at the crime scene, while you bring it to the new Buy More hub in Colorado Springs, in three hours." Then he added, as if just remembering, "Or he dies."

Multiple fingers started typing.

"A twenty-seven acre construction site," said Casey.

"They'll be dug in by now," added Carina.

"No time," said Sarah. "We'll work it out on the road. Call North Star, find out who's on-site in Colorado Springs." Some backup would be nice, but she'd do without if she had to.

* * *

The sun had set, the night turned cold. Not as cold as Sarah's heart. They'd taken her man.

They stood at the conveniently-open main gate, looking over the expanse of torn ground and construction equipment. "Twenty-seven acres is a lot of _here,_" said Carina. "Not exactly specific."

"How do we find the right place?"

"They want what you've got," said Casey, indicating Sarah's burden. "You follow the signs. We'll follow the trackers." He and Carina moved into the stacks on their way to get Chuck, even as Sarah went after the people who took him.

Painted arrows and well-placed vehicles forced Sarah onto a single, confusing path through the stacks, until she eventually came out in a cleared space surrounded by materials. In the center was crate, and on the crate…a phone?

Sarah looked around, but no one seemed to be there. She examined the phone as best she could without touching it, and then, touching it with the longest object she could find, a length of pipe. When nothing happened she felt confident enough to touch it herself. The screen lit, showing an app running, a light pulsing. "Casey, Carina, where are you?"

"On your five," said Casey.

"Your ten."

Sarah touched the screen, and the light went out.

"Just lost a tracker," said Casey.

"Got his watch here," said Carina.

"It's a trap!" Sarah shouted, but of course by then the men in dark obscuring clothing were already rappelling into the killbox. Five to one, ten to one odds.

"_Bù shāng jīnf__ǎ!"_

She didn't hear them, didn't understand what they'd said. Chuck wasn't here, he'd never been here. They'd taken him from her and they had no intention of giving him back.

Time slowed.

Sarah Bartowski moved like lightning, staccato thunder rumbling. She moved like a gymnast and a dancer, moving and spinning, flipping across obstacles, running along walls, flowing from one place to another with liquid speed. She moved like a martial artist and a trained killer, using whatever weapons came to hand or foot, hammer blows and precision strikes toppling the enemy surrounding her, enemies she could fight.

She moved like a woman deeply in love, deathly afraid, and very very angry.

She was alone, surrounded on all sides by fallen men. She needed enemies, there had to be more. Someone was yelling and she turned to see who. She saw Casey and Carina, disarmed, captured, human shields against a blonde buzz-saw.

Two shots in the darkness, four, and the captors were down. Sarah stood there blinking, a killing machine with no one to kill, while her partners grabbed whatever weapons made them happiest.

Mary Bartowski walked into the light, and looked around. "Where's Chuck?"

* * *

**A/N2 **I got the translation off the web, so hopefully it doesn't sound too strange to native speakers.

Back in S3 they had an episode where Sarah knocked a thrown knife out of the air with an axe, prompting Orion to ask, "Is she an Intersect too?" I saw no reason why Sarah-in-love would need an Intersect to do what she did to strike force. Bit of an insult to her character to think she'd have to, really.


	9. Train of Thought

**A/N** Just as an observation, I do a bit more writing of Charah stuff now that I have Charah fans like Tut1971 and Molotov making regular comments about the Charah I write. Similarly, I do a bit more scene setting ever since resaw started mentioning how much my increased scene-setting improved his experience of the story. I'm sensing a theme here.

pizza: She uploaded the Intersect because the producers wanted her to. Purely manipulative story-telling. Obviously Casey would have shot Quinn first, in any real showdown. I could see it all coming from a mile away when he didn't. Real story logic doesn't let you lie.

I am once again filling in some empty space left at the end of last episode, in between Chuck's kidnapping and the attempted rescue. In canon this space was left empty, but I have other interested parties who need to be heard from. The canon attack on the Buy More by Quinn has been split into two parts. The first part we saw last chapter, with an attack on Team B in the hotel. The second part is Quinn's attack, in this case on Morgan, mostly offscreen.

* * *

"_What's _your_ angle?" _

"_We only want Carmichael."_

"_Let me talk to your boss." _

"_Where's Chuck?"_

* * *

Dinnertime in DC…

Ellie settled herself into the cushioned seat of honor, with a sigh of relief and only a slight hitch of pain.

Naturally Devon noticed. "You okay, babe?"

"Yes, Devon, I'm fine," said Ellie, trying to keep still below the waist. "Just a little sore."

"We can always do this another night–"

So considerate, and so wrong. "No, Devon, we can't. A United States General cannot just clear her schedule anytime she pleases. I need to find out what's happening with Chuck and Sarah, and I will sit on a block of stone if I have to, to do that."

"Not in _my_ restaurant, you won't, Eleanor Faye Bartowski Woodcombe," said Morgan grandly.

"Hey," said Devon. "Watch it with the name-dropping, will you buddy? That's not always safe in this town."

"Doctor and Mrs. Woodcombe, you can relax," said General Beckman, oddly matched height-wise with her escort. Morgan pulled out her chair and she settled primly. "The reason I had to do this dinner tonight is because the secure booth here is so sought after all other nights. We can talk in peace."

* * *

Post-dinnertime, in Colorado…

Sarah forced her fists to unclench, her stance to relax. "Why are you here?"

"Where's Alex?" said Alex' dad. The FBI did kidnappings. Not committing them, resolving them.

Mary approached slowly, putting her weapons away as she shifted her gaze from one to the next of her strange family. "'Hi, mom.' 'Good shooting.' 'Thank you, Agent Frost.' Let me know when I get close."

The non-Chuck members of Team B shared a glance. "Hi, mom," said Casey, straining at some variety of falsetto. It didn't sound like Sarah.

"Good shooting," said Carina, her voice as low as she could get it, which wasn't far. The grin spoiled it. She didn't sound like Casey.

Sarah shook her head, but dutifully chimed in with, "Thanks, Agent Frost."

Mary smiled, almost laughed, but twenty years in service, controlling a psychotic criminal genius still came to her aid from time to time. "She did say there'd be days…"

"Beckman?" asked Carina.

"Who else? She didn't say anything about the nights, though." She looked at Casey. "Alex is babysitting for Ellie."

"You're our backup?"

Her retirement hadn't been exactly voluntary, so her reinstatement wasn't exactly official. "Not exactly…"

* * *

Dinnertime, in DC…

_Oh, thank God!_ And thank Alex, for getting to Florida in time! "So Sarah's coming back?"

"I'm afraid not, Ellie," said Diane. "She's still a potential target for the Norseman. She's actually safer in the field."

Ellie thought about all the unsafe things out in the field, but merely said, "I hope so."

Just then one of the waiters tapped politely on the panel by the entrance. "Excuse me, General, but the maitre D' tells me you might want to close the privacy door for a little while. It could get a little loud out here."

Beckman nodded as she wiped her mouth. "An excellent suggestion. Please, see to it."

The waiter nodded and withdrew, and the little sounds from without went with him. The silence killed their conversation inside as well.

Suddenly a low rumbling noise forced its way into their space. Men yelling, and popping sounds.

"Hmm, that reminds me," said Diane, fishing out her phone. "My apologies, but duty calls."

"What is that, champagne?" asked Ellie. "Sounds like a pretty wild party."

_Or a war zone. _"I expect we'll find out eventually," said Diane. "Mr. Clark, inform Jumper the mission is a go. Very good." She put the phone away. "So tell me, how are you adjusting to the baby in your lives?"

* * *

At the construction site…

"That was quick," said Casey.

Mary–Jumper–shrugged. "Chuck saw it coming somehow, gave everybody lots of time to prepare, even me. They got suckered right in. Just like these guys suckered you." She scowled fiercely at Sarah. "You are the mother of my second grandchild! Get your head in the game, or I swear I will ground you for a month. You're protecting for two, now."

So far the only version of Mary Bartowski that Sarah knew was the subtly manipulative Frost, using the influence she did have to get her way without overt displays of a power she didn't have. Mama B was a lot more direct. _Now I know where Ellie gets it from!_ "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Frost looked at the pile of bodies surrounding her daughter-in-law. "What do you have, that they wanted so badly?"

Sarah reached into her coat, and pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

"No," said Mary. "They could have just killed you all and taken that." She scanned the surroundings, noted all the bullet holes. "This bunch wanted you personally, it's the only reason to come down at all." She nodded her head toward the object in Sarah's hand. "What is that?"

"It's the…thing your husband made," said Sarah, aware of how exposed they were. Anyone with the right equipment could hear them. She unfolded them so they'd look like glasses. "Part two, not part one. Chuck has that."

Frost regarded the glasses like she would any dangerous weapon. Those would kill anyone who put them on, except the man they were meant for and the woman currently holding them. "Wherever Chuck is."

"Yes, ma'am." Sarah put the glasses away. "We have to get him back quickly. Whoever took him knew all about these glasses, he has to know about the…thing."

"Is he one of these?" Frost tipped one thug over with a toe.

Sarah pushed some of the others, so she could get out of the space she was in. Climbing over the pile was just too much work. "I don't know. Only one of them ever spoke and I don't know what he said."

Frost looked at Casey. He shook his head. "I couldn't make it out, either. 'Shan fa' is what it sounded like, but they were shooting at us so I could be wrong. He was facing them, though."

"'Pu shan fa'," said Carina. "No language I know."

"Is that what you heard?" Mary asked Sarah.

Sarah dithered, but eventually shook her head.

"What did you hear him say?"

Sarah looked…guilty.

"You didn't hear him at all, did you?"

Sarah shook her head again.

_Oh boy_, as Stephen would say. "Agent Bartowski, you are relieved."

* * *

"Thank you so much for setting my mind at rest, Diane," said Ellie as they were preparing to leave the restaurant. "Much as I hate knowing what's happening, I think being kept in the dark is much worse. I know my parents haven't been taking it well."

"I'm surprised they weren't here tonight."

"They had business back in California, Dad's rebuilding RI, only without the evil. They're probably over Colorado by now. I'll catch them up later. Thanks again."

General Beckman nodded. "Glad I'm able to keep you all in the loop. Good night."

* * *

At that moment, somewhere far to the west of Colorado…

Some days, destiny needed more help than others. _"_What do you mean, they vanished?_ An entire strike team doesn't just vanish!"_

* * *

_No! _ "You don't have that authority."

"I'm your mother-in-law, I have all the authority I need," said Mary. Then her tone softened, "No one knows better than I do, how you feel right now." She sighed. "Unfortunately that includes you. So I'm sending Sarah Bartowski off the field before she gets Agent Walker killed."

"I can control it."

"She did in Hawaii," said Carina.

"Was Chuck in danger in Hawaii? Had she been poisoned by the Atroxium in Hawaii?" asked Mary, and the silence was eloquent. She turned to Sarah. "Not to mention you can barely stand right now anyway. You broke a building the first time, and a _country_ the second. I was there to save you in Thailand but I almost wasn't tonight, and until you learn to aim it and fire on command, you're worse than useless. Do you really want me to call your General and make it official?"

What Sarah really wanted was to go after her husband, but Mary was right, after the fight she just had, she was done. If Beckman ordered her off the case that would be pretty final. If she recused herself…"No, ma'am."

"Colonel Casey, Agent Miller, do you concur?"

Sarah watched her two partners nod, unhappily.

"Good," said Frost. "That's settled. Sarah, you can't go back to DC, obviously, so we'll take you to a safe house elsewhere, once we finish cleaning the site." They all looked around at the bodies. Lots of bodies. Most of them in a pile where Sarah had been. For some reason they all gathered to excavate that first. "We need a story." Something to explain a lot of dead bodies to the people who would be discovering this mess in just a few hours.

"Gang war?" asked Casey, grabbing an arm and a leg. Always a popular choice.

"Doesn't look it," said Carina, pulling someone else away. "These guys are all dressed the same."

"Except for the masks," said Sarah.

Carina looked at the guy she was hauling away. "What masks?"

"The guy who yelled in my face had a mask on, like these guys here at the bottom."

"Take them off," said Mary. "Those would be the ones closest to you right at the start, and if they're shouting in foreign languages, I'm guessing they aren't Americans."

Casey pulled. "You win. Looks Oriental. Not Yakuza, no tattoos."

Frost looked him over. Yakuza tattoos tended to be flamboyant, but lots of syndicates tattooed their members. She checked in the usual spots. "Here." She pointed to a couple of characters inked on the back of his neck. "These guys are Guan Yi."

* * *

Guillermo Chan sat in his office, reviewing security reports. Time was running out. The robbery of his bank by that accursed Carmichael had brought the wrath of the Guan Yi down upon his own head. If he didn't 'acquire' Carmichael soon, it would be his own painful sacrifice that appeased their wounded honor.

He looked at the image taken just hours before, in the United States. Carmichael, still without that ridiculous mustache, and the blonde. He'd originally wanted to 'acquire' her too, selling her would have made up for the money lost in the robbery itself, but extracting her from America would have been too difficult, so he settled for her death instead. Then that man Quinn had called, Carmichael in hand, and offered him in exchange for her.

All Chan had to do was get her. He pulled up the hated video of the robbery, for yet another review. He could afford no more errors. The team he'd dispatched to receive Carmichael from the locally-hired mercenaries would instead become the team to acquire the blonde directly. Carmichael's team would come to recover him, and die at their hands, except for the blonde. The redhead would be a useful prize too, but he had no idea where she was, and anyway extracting one live prisoner from America would be hard enough.

The phone rang, and he was quick to answer it. His façade of calm dropped away, like that of a condemned prisoner, feeling the noose tighten around his neck. "What do you mean, we have lost contact?"

* * *

Agent Walker had the conn. "Well, at least now we know what they want Chuck for," she said calmly.

"I told him not to say 'game-set-match' like that," said Carina.

"No you didn't," said Casey.

"I was going to, but he said it too soon."

"Enough," said Mary. "They're going to make an example of him, that gives us time and opportunity." She looked at Sarah, trying to inspire some hope, but all she saw were spy eyes looking back at her. "Maybe more than one. You two they were happy to just execute before, but now it seems like they want Sarah alive. Something's changed."

Casey grunted a negative. "The only thing that's changed is that now instead of staging a gang war with lots of guns, no blood, and everybody beaten to death, now we're staging an international mob war with lots of guns, no blood, and everybody beaten to death. In Colorado."

Carina grimaced. "I think even a Janitor would have trouble with this one."

"Hey, it's a Buy More." Casey looked around, but that perfectly valid explanation simply wasn't going to fly in that headwind. "I don't hear you guys coming up with any ideas."

"Fine," said Carina. "Uh, the white guys had the guns, the Chinese all knew kung-fu and dodged the bullets, so the home team picked up whatever was laying around and they killed each other off?"

"You're not even _trying_ to think of a cover story, are you, Miller?"

* * *

Hours later, leaving a carefully-constructed crime scene behind…

Fortunately Mary had access to plenty of money, renting airplanes for one-way flights isn't the cheapest thing to do at the last minute. The new Orion Industries credit card even kept their names under wraps.

"I wish I knew where you were going," said Sarah, their pilot, once they were in the air.

"So do I," said Mary, sitting next to her. She laughed. "And here I was, wishing just the other day that I was more in the loop."

"Oh, so it's _your_ fault." 'Last mission' demons had nothing on the 'I just wish' demons.

No. Yes. "Sorry about that."

"Bring him back to me."

"I will."

"I know you will. I was in Thailand with you."

* * *

Stephen Bartowski met them at the airport in California, taking Sarah in charge while her teammates checked over the latest intel. A larger and faster plane awaited them. "Where are they going?" asked Sarah as Stephen guided her to his car. She was stumbling with weariness, her body less and less willing to move.

"The flight plan says Japan," he answered, as he made sure she was buckled up. He closed the door and went around to his side. "Last I heard, Hannah and Manoosh were trading some pretty wild theories why that–um…"

Sarah was sound asleep. She didn't move as her father-in-law drove back to his safe house. With an even safer basement.

* * *

A day later (maybe two, crossing the Date Line sort of mucks up details like that)…

The city of Tokyo, Japan is bustling, day and night. Hordes of people, as far as the eye could see, and since Chuck was taller than almost all of them, he could see pretty far. He would have been happier without the manacles under his coat, or the explosives against his chest, but at least he had that.

"Hurry it up, Bartowski," said Quinn, as they entered the train station, and the crowds, under pressure, became thicker and denser. "You wouldn't want us to get separated, would you?"

Chuck didn't bother answering that, he simply moved faster, unintentionally and unavoidably rude in places where he had no choice. Quinn excelled at finding those, and Chuck left a line of people behind him thinking evil thoughts about 'gaijin' as he kept pace with Quinn's reverse proximity trigger.

Quinn had a private cabin on the world's fastest and busiest train. He sat, reading a brochure, leaving Chuck to stand or sit as he would.

"Where are we going?" asked Chuck. "I've always wanted to see Osaka myself, big Shogun fan…"

"They like to give you a lot of crap about how it's not about the destination, so much as the journey," said Quinn. "But in your case it really is about the destination." He smiled. "I like that word, 'destination'. Sounds like destiny."

_Destiny implies someone cares. _"You believe in destiny? I'm more of a Fate kind of guy." _Fate screws everyone regardless._

"I have a destiny, Agent Charles, and so do you."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like mine?"

"Because your destiny is to die, so that my destiny can be fulfilled."

"We seem to be operating at cross-purposes," said Chuck. "And here I was hoping we could be friends."

Quinn put his brochure down, and stood. "Not cross purposes, Charles. Your life and mine have never intersected in any way." He pushed Chuck into a seat. "You have something that belongs to me, thanks to Bryce Larkin. But once I get Sarah Walker in my corner, I'll get it all back."

"Sarah will never fight for you."

Quinn dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "She's a woman, and women gravitate toward men with power. Female agents are no different." Quinn smirked in his victim's face. "We both know why she's with you, Charles. You really think you'd get a girl like her without the Intersect? Maybe you would, but when I get the Intersect she'll be mine. The rest of your team? Dead. Headlines in yesterday's paper. No one's coming to rescue you, Charles."

* * *

Back in yesterday (or perhaps today, Date Line problems again)…

Vivian noticed the folded up paper as they entered the terminal. "Don't tell me you actually _read_ that scandal rag."

"There's nothing funnier than what passes for journalism in America," said Decker. "But I have to say, today is special."

"How so?"

Decker unfolded the paper and held it up, displaying a picture of an urban development project, under a lurid headline. "Bunch of Chinese Mafia get into a turf war with some local yokels and they kill each other off. Nobody wins." He folded the paper again and stuck it under his arm, chuckling. "Only at a Buy More."

* * *

**A/N2 **Surprise. I thought the idea that the Guan Yi would just let somebody rob their bank without even an attempt at retribution was pretty lame, but that was yet another thing that just dropped out of canon.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** I realized as I was writing this, the thing I dislike about most of season 5, but especially this arc. It's not fun. And the finale sucks, but we already knew that. I didn't try for outright comedy, but I did what I could to lighten the mood.

* * *

"_You're our backup?" _

"_Agent Bartowski, you are relieved."_

"_These guys are Guan Yi." _

"_No one's coming to rescue you, Charles."_

* * *

Carina stared out the window, at the clouds moving so deceptively slowly past them. Once she'd seen Sarah looking out a window like this, and wondered what she'd been thinking. She'd even offered a half peso per thought, which, at the time, would have been a bargain. Now she could sort of guess.

She'd sat on seats this hard, looked out a glass panel at a much less interesting view for a much longer time, for very much the same reason. She'd had a lot of time to think, sitting there in her cell, staring at the ghostly reflection of herself in that plexiglass door. She didn't like what she'd seen, an image, a wisp of light on glass, practically not there at all. Her only anchor to the world of the living was her best and only friend, and she was so desperate to keep that anchor she almost destroyed it, destroyed herself.

She'd seen the face of Death outside that cell door, but that wasn't the face she'd seen last night. Last night's Sarah had a much thinner shell, ground down by the Atroxium, and she had yet to learn to handle it. Like Daniel Shaw she was unable to stop, her fear and anger driving her as his grief had driven him. Fortunately Mary was there to guide her in Thailand, and could call on that control again tonight, before something really bad happened. Much as it felt like a betrayal, she'd had to side with Frost on this one.

They _would_ get Chuck back. She couldn't let that happen to Sarah again, not now that she knew what it felt like. A little. What she'd said that night on the plane was true, Sarah and Chuck had gone through Hell for each other. She couldn't imagine them doing it on purpose, or herself, but they had done it. What she and Davis had was a pale shadow of that…that…

She looked around, but no one was looking at her. She looked back out the window, casting her thoughts into the sky.

Love.

There, she'd said it. Not out loud, not with Casey right over there. Thought it. Someday she'd say it to Davis. At night, maybe, when he was asleep. But she'd say it.

After they got Chuck home. They had to succeed, or there'd be no stopping Sarah, or helping her. Nineteen children would remain unconceived, and Carina, selfishly, wanted to be part of as large a family as she could find. She would make sure Chuck kept his promise.

* * *

Alex looked up as the door knob rattled, reaching for a bookmark. Just because she'd completed her training didn't mean there wasn't always something she had to learn, and watching over a sleeping little angel was the perfect time to be learning it.

Of course she had her hand on her gun, under cover of the book, just in case. That part of the job description sort of went without saying.

No uzi-toting terrorists tonight. "Hey, Alex," said Ellie, taking off her coat.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Woodcombe," said the young agent, releasing the gun and closing the book. "Did you have a nice time?"

Ellie smiled, much happier than when they'd left. "Yes, thank you. And thanks for watching Clara for us, the General's invitation was such a surprise…"

"Don't be silly, she's wonderful, very calm, and you just know there's something going on behind those beautiful eyes of hers."

Ellie had on her happy face. "I always thought so."

"You're the mom," said Devon, putting the coats away, "You're supposed to think so."

"Well she happens to be right," said Alex firmly.

"I surrender," said Devon, closing the door with Alex' coat in hand.

"You can tell right away he's a heart surgeon," said Ellie, with a grin.

Alex winked. "He's very smart." She held out her hands and Devon gave her the coat. "I'm glad you had a good time. Did you get a chance to talk to Morgan?"

"Not much, just when Diane arrived," said Ellie, giving her guest a hug. "I didn't see him when we left. There was some kind of loud party later on, must have kept him busy."

Alex kept it together in front of the civilians. Maybe the loud party was exactly that. It wouldn't hurt to swing by and make sure. "Well, that's life in management. Have a good night."

* * *

"A train station?" said Casey. "Didn't they just get off a plane?"

"Yes, but not every destination has an airport," said Frost. "How can we find out which train?"

"Which one leaves next?" asked Carina. That sign over there had the number '15' on it, but was that a time or a track designation?

Mary made an agreeing hum as she considered the question. "Yes, whoever took him wouldn't want to trap himself on board any longer than he had to. Good thinking."

"It is, but that's not why," said Casey. He pointed to the main board, the top item. "Look. The next train out's the _Tōkaidō Shinkansen_. A bullet train. Moves too fast for us to board, all the exits are sealed so Chuck couldn't get off even after he escaped." Because Chuck would escape, he always escaped. It was his best thing, right after 'beating the bad guys'.

"Close," said Carina, amazed that Casey would come out and say something positive about her in public like that but not about to draw his attention to it. "But I was really just thinking we should see if we can triangulate the signal with the one that leaves first, because it, you know…leaves first."

Casey grunted his approval. "That sounds like a plan. Get going."

Carina raced to the far side of the platform, the thick crowds no obstacle for her. Casey moved more slowly, Mary with him. She looked everywhere, but a man as tall as Chuck would have stood out pretty literally in this crowd and did not.

After just a few moments, much too soon for her to have reached the far side of the terminal, Carina reported in. "You were right, Casey. I just passed the bullet and now Chuck's behind me."

"Get on board," said Mary. "We'll have to get tickets en route."

* * *

Sarah woke to the sound of voices, and to pain. She lay in bed, hurting when she moved but almost too stiff to move. A bottle of CIA-endorsed pain reliever stood on a table, with some toy radio gear, and a glass of water. Flat, warm, water. Somebody had left this here a while ago, someone…absent-minded. She took the pills and drank all the water, laying back down until either the pain went away or she had to go to the bathroom, whichever came first.

She got out of the bed with a groan, and the low murmur of voices stopped, and then came back, slightly louder than before. The radio gear was real. She picked up the microphone part. "A baby monitor, Orion?"

"We got them for Ellie," said the speaker part. "In case she ever visited, so why reinvent the wheel? Especially when they were on sale." The speaker made a loud thump as he put it down, and the murmur of voices resumed.

She used the sound to navigate the unfamiliar house. The living room had a hole in the floor, with some steps leading down. Orion was up to his old tricks, or maybe after twenty years, he just thought better down there.

The basement held no racks this time, boasting instead a bunch of work areas, with an impressive collection of higher-tech toys. With laser sensors. She wove her way between them, wincing but silent, refusing to give the old hacker the satisfaction. He'd tried to plug the Intersect in his only son, with no one could imagine what possible consequences, and she'd hunted him for that. In her moment of greatest need he was there for her (for Chuck really, but that was the same thing in her mind), with a fast car and a rocket launcher. She'd never had the chance to use the rocket launcher but still she decided, if not to forgive, at least to live and let live.

Now she was here, in his house, safe until the rest of her family returned her husband to her. So odd, to have a family again. If she'd had a mother like Mary–her mind twitched away from the thought, as it always did. She could not, would not, think of her mother. Especially not now.

She stepped past the last of the lasers, without a sound.

"Hello, Sarah," said Stephen, without looking back. "You're just in time."

"For what?" asked Sarah, spotting the monitor full of purple pixels.

"I'm just filling in your General on the latest news."

"Good evening, Agent Bartowski," said the purple smudge. "How are you feeling?"

"Not field ready, that's for sure, General," said Sarah. The screen swirled, making her a bit queasy. Maybe that was morning sickness. She'd never had it or seen anybody who did, so how could she tell? She turned to her father-in-law, pointing at the screen. "I'm sorry, could you–?"

Stephen jerked into motion. "Certainly." He ran his fingers over the keyboard. "Um, here's grayscale. It's the best I can do at this bandwidth."

The screen transformed into a gray field, with darker gray smudges forming an approximation of a human face. "Much better, thank you." She focused on her commanding officer. "Beating up twenty-five men is the equivalent of twenty-five men beating _me_ up. Ellie would have me in bed if she knew."

Beckman's hand went to her ear. "I'm afraid she does know, Sarah, and she's being very vocal in her agreement with you. You two can get into that after the briefing."

Whatever happened to maternity leave? Or the Geneva Convention? "Yes ma'am."

"You did your part, getting your team out of a deadly situation with minimal casualties. Now let your team do theirs."

Like she had a choice. "Yes, ma'am."

"Mr. Bartowski was just bringing me up to speed on the latest developments." She seemed to like saying 'Mr. Bartowski' a lot more than saying 'Orion'. Like dancing on his grave, but without the grave.

He picked up his cue. "They just bought tickets on the bullet train to Osaka, General," he said, checking the account activity on his wife's _Orion Industries_ credit card. "Expensive little buggers, too…"

"Send me the bill," said Beckman, knowing he would anyway. It wasn't like he needed the money, either, the old coot would just be needling her. She would even pay it, if only to keep the relationship on a professional level, controlled and dignified, to whatever extent Orion did dignity. He would be a thorn in her side for the rest of her career, she was sure, but at least now she had a mailing address.

"Osaka? Why would the Guan Yi be holding him in Japan?" said Sarah.

Generals aren't paid to worry about such things. "I'll pass the information along to Focus, Agent Bartowski. I'm sure she has a number of theories. I understand she and Manoosh like to brainstorm together_._ We'll keep you apprised as the situation develops. Dismissed." She stabbed at the button , but the screen didn't go black. She tried it again, several times. Finally, she sighed in defeat. "Mr. Bartowski, if you would?"

Stephen laughed. "Certainly, General." A click on the mouse and she was gone.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?" said Sarah with a smile.

Stephen shrugged. "What can I say, she pushes my buttons."

Sarah turned and started to make her way back to the maze of lights, but not fast enough. Her phone started to ring. "I'm going, I'm going," she said, pulling it out of her pocket, and then she accepted the call. "Hi, Ellie…"

* * *

"So you're thinking we have some third group involved here?" asked Manoosh. He'd thought so for a while now, but she was the one with the spreadsheets and the General's ear. So unfair. Try to sell one national secret to one foreign 'investor' and you were marked for life.

"I don't see any simpler possibility," said Hannah a/k/a Focus. "None of my scenarios with just two players gets us anywhere close to this sequence of events."

"Not even the one where they're trying to lose a tail?"

"Dumped it," said Hannah. "It might have worked if they'd just switched to a different plane in Japan, but I figured a bunch of Chinese guys dragging a tall American through a Japanese train station is probably not the best way to avoid attention."

"Probably right about that," said Manoosh. "So what do we know about this mysterious third party…?"

* * *

Chuck sat in a too-small chair, hands chained under his coat, a bomb strapped to his chest, and sneered into his captor's face. "You know nothing about power. You're a traitor, a coward, and a killer." And a liar. All the Intersects in the world wouldn't change any of that.

Quinn sneered back. "The CIA abandoned _me_, Agent Charles, they betrayed _me_. I was supposed to get the Intersect. _I_ was supposed to get the power, but when Larkin stole it I was sent back out to be captured."

CIA. Good to know. "I doubt that's why they did it." Not to a potential Intersect host.

"Doesn't matter," said Quinn with fanatic confidence. He pushed himself upright. "They sent me out. I was captured. I was broken, and it was the CIA's fault."

_The Intersect won't fix what's broken in you._ "I notice you're not denying the rest." Giving him Intersect abilities now would just make him more of a monster than he already was.

Quinn smiled, more of a manic grin. "Why would I? Being the CIA's best didn't get me any CIA help," he said breezily. "Being a hero didn't get me out of that hole." His grin faded. "Being a killer did, and cowards live to kill another day."

Chuck had seen the CIA's best, he'd married her, and Quinn wasn't up to that standard. Sarah had taken more than her fair share of hits lately, but she wasn't 'broken'_. _If anything she was stronger. She'd gotten her life back, her soul back. Her friends back. Chuck flashed. _The shooter, singular, not plural, was a white male, with a beard__._ "Like when you went after Agent Rizzo?"

"How did you know about that?" snarled Quinn. "The Intersect?" He'd erased himself from the CIA's databases. He couldn't be in the Intersect!

"Her car got shot up on the Autobahn," said Chuck, leaving out the part about Rizzo's miraculous, albeit naked, escape. "The same night she brought us a photo, taken by another agent, who was also attacked. A roomful of men, all watching Agent Walker. All of them, except for a bearded, shadowy white male in the corner of the room. And no, he's not in the Intersect, which makes me wonder if his image was the reason the Facial Recognition app stopped working."

"That's very possible, Charles," said Quinn with a shrug. "Lots of things stop working around me."

He sat calmly. "I had no quarrel with Agent Rizzo, but I couldn't allow anyone to know that I existed, especially not the CIA."

"They do now."

"They will soon," corrected Quinn. Staying off their radar wasn't hard when you knew how it worked but the Intersect was just too tempting. "Now? You know what, I don't care. Sure it'll be a bit of a race but once I get the Intersect, who cares about the also-rans?"

* * *

"What do you mean you lost Quinn?" shouted Decker into the phone. He didn't wait for an answer. "Reacquire him immediately or I'll let you explain to Mr. Delgado how you lost him in the first place." He threw the phone at the bed.

Vivian looked up from the document they'd given her to read. "Problems?"

"No," said Decker quickly. "Quinn was supposed to be a known quantity, his obsession should have made him controllable, predictable."

Someone they wouldn't have to pay, to get what they wanted. "I'm going to guess it hasn't."

"Once I gave him those documents I predicted his appearance at the DARPA facility within a day. That idiot who was supposed to follow him decided to wait for him there instead, but he never showed up."

"You need to start hiring a better class of idiot," said Vivian. "I happen to know where many can be located."

"What about Quinn?" asked Clyde. "If we're not going to use him we need to cut him off sooner rather than later."

She nodded. Quinn was a useful tool, but as a competitor he was most unwelcome. "Clearly something has changed. And before you get your knickers in a twist, or however they say it in America, I'll tell you what I think it may be."

* * *

Guillermo Chan sat at the back of train, far from where his rank and position entitled him to sit. His time had run out, and if anyone were to discover that fact he was a dead man.

He did not know this man Quinn, nor Quinn him, but he knew Mr. Carmichael by sight. He watched as the pair walked forward to the reserved cabins, and knew the signal would come soon, a signal for a trade that would never occur.

He didn't know why Quinn wanted the blonde, beside the obvious, but if she was his price then Chan would meet that price. Quinn seemed like a man of ability, a useful man to have in America. A ransom demand, late at night, would give his own team a chance to do what the American meat could not. When that team also fell silent Chan knew he would have no more opportunities.

Chan slipped out of his seat at the back of the train, using his illegally-acquired key to access the baggage and freight sections of the train. He recognized his own parcels and slapped them all on the side. From the inside latches were undone and the walls came down. Men stepped out, not mercenaries this time. These men were Guan Yi, under Guillermo Chan's personal command. They were the only forces he had left.

He needed Carmichael. What Quinn would not give would have to be taken from him.

* * *

**A/N2 **I don't know why Carina's getting all the character development lately. Next chapter will be Casey's turn.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N **Casey didn't get a chance to spend a lot of time with Mary, so here he does. Sarah has a few words with Orion, about his son. In canon Chuck was simply chained, and easily rescued. Since I didn't have Sarah here, or Alex held hostage, I had to come up with a different method for Quinn to control Chuck. Putting those sections together took the longest time. I ended up rewriting them a few times over. But it was good, since I came up with a much better way for the episode to end.

* * *

"_That sounds like a plan." _

"_Send me the bill." _

"_You know nothing about power." _

"_Cowards live to kill another day."_

* * *

Carina slipped through the crowds in the dining car, heading for the high-end section reserved for the high-rollers. Neither Casey nor Frost had come equipped to fit into this environment, and truth be told, neither had she, but she'd always thought fitting in was more about attitude than apparel. Looking down her nose on others was second nature to her. The crowds parted for her as she passed, returning gracious nods for their deeper bows. Even the unshaven European toad knew better than to block the aisle as she passed by.

She paused in the doorway, but moved on without turning back. The European toad ignored her, and ordered a sushi lunchbox for himself.

"Casey, Frost," said Carina as she passed by closed doors in the next car. "There's a man in the dining car. White, probably European. He smells like trouble." Not too long ago she would have completely ignored it, but ever since Devon had told her she smelled like gunpowder she'd been extra conscious of the smell, extra careful to wash off the residue.

"We'll watch for him," said Casey, "But we're headed away from the dining car right now, toward the baggage end. Not seeing any Chinese thugs yet."

Carina double-clicked a response, trying to look in windows without looking obvious about it.

* * *

"Colonel, what's your professional assessment of the situation?" asked Frost, looking around them at the hordes of laughing happy people going about their lives at 300 kilometers per hour. "Do we have much of a chance to recover Chuck, without violence?"

"No," said Casey instantly. "The Guan Yi aren't known for restraint, and to be honest, neither am I." He moved through the potential collateral damage as quickly as he could without drawing more attention than he already did. "If we can get Chuck back, I think we can manage to achieve minimal violence, though. It's sort of his specialty."

"Specialty? Like Sharpshooting?"

"Yeah, only worse. They had to invent a new grade at the facility."

Mary stepped around a group of giggling schoolgirls. "A new…grade?"

Casey grunted, rather than repeat himself. "They called it the Escape Clause. My fault, really."

"You named it?" asked Mary with some skepticism. Casey didn't look like the type for creative labeling.

He shook his head. "I _started_ it. Put him in A.I.R. in his first module, but it backfired. He kept escaping, and the name stuck."

Advanced Interrogation Resistance was for experienced agents, it could destroy an unprepared mind. Frost turned a mother's angry glare on her current partner. "Why would you do that?" she asked, her voice promising pain, with a long life to feel it in.

Casey kept his hands away from his guns. "Because I didn't want him to become _me_. None of us did, especially him. He only wanted to be an analyst, for God's sake. I expected him to wash out, fail honorably, and move on."

_You only fail if you quit, and Bartowskis never quit. _"Well, if it's any comfort I don't see any signs of him turning into you. Looks to me like you're turning into him." She turned back to the search.

He followed. "Don't tell him I said so, but I'll take that as a compliment. He's the second-best–" a train full of people, some of whom might understand English "–person in our profession I've ever worked with."

_How's that a compliment?_ "Only the second?"

"Sarah's the first. Maybe I'm just old-school but I prefer her style. Your son almost never met a problem head on, in any area. I think he did it for fun, but it was a real pain in my ass. Made it hard to figure a score using the standard metrics."

Maternal pride warred with _So they just let him cheat?_ "And how did that translate into real tactics?"

"Not one hundred percent, but you know that," said Casey. "Took a while to find that pinch point, though." Casey paused to push open the door to the next car, and said, under cover of the wind and the noise, "He used a porn virus to kill a computer-driven bomb. He blew up my car."

"Now _that_ sounds like something a regular agent might do."

"He had to redirect a guided missile away from a cruise ship using a video game controller, and my car had the right signal." Not a cruise ship, but it had passengers, and what the hell, make it sound good for mom. "I tried, you know. Thought I had him, when I put him up against a girl, but we all know how well that worked out."

She was probably the only one who did, the only one who'd read the mission report about events inside the club, and went through the aftermath with Sarah on the outside. "You did your best."

"My best wasn't good enough. Only life could beat Chuck, and life eventually did. By the time he was done with his 'training', three trainers requested transfers back into the field," said Casey with a dark edge of humor in his voice. "Guess they thought it was safer."

Their comms activated and they stopped, just a car or two from the end of the train. "Guys, I found him, in the reserved section."

Casey got out a prop phone. "We're on our way." They headed back through the crowds. "Makes sense, I guess," said Casey. "This guy Chan probably only ever gets the best."

* * *

Stephen knocked on her door. "Agent Walker?"

"Come in."

The door opened, Orion showing off his genius once again, by opening the door and entering the room with a dinner tray, all without spilling anything. Sarah sat up slowly in the bed.

"I brought you some dinner," said Stephen, "Although the best that can be said about it is that I eat this way myself, when Mary's away."

"That bad, huh?"

Stephen laughed ruefully. "Ellie learned to cook in self-defense." He set the tray down. "If you'd like I can keep you company, help take your mind off the food."

She looked at the meat, and then the knife. "You're that good a talker?"

"It's about Chuck."

Clank! went the silverware. "What's happened?"

Stephen held up a calming hand. "Nothing that I know of, they're probably still searching the train. This is about…before."

Sarah jammed her fork into meat, but the plate was made of stronger stuff. "Yes?"

"I'm not going to apologize for what I did, what I…tried to do."

_Twice. _The knife tore through the meat, squealing along the porcelain. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not," said Orion, wincing. "This damned project has ruined my life for thirty years, taken away my best friend and the woman I love. Of course I'd do whatever I had to do to save my son."

"Chuck didn't need saving, not like that."

"I beg to differ. Mary told me about showing Chuck my panel, and I've read the reports Ellie wrote about the consequences. 'Hitting an eggshell with a hammer' is the mildest image I can think of. He wouldn't have those skill sets running loose in him today if I'd been allowed to prevent any future uploads when I had the chance."

_Which means Mary wouldn't have been able to get past us, and…what?_ No Hartley? No capture of Hydra? No Agent X files? Even Frost thought it turned out better this way. Sarah embedded her knife in the dessert, an attempt at custard. "You know, Ellie once called you eleven kinds of a genius but at times like this I really have to wonder."

"Sarah?"

Her body was sore and anyway he was family, so she used weapons appropriate for the occasion. "You wanted to talk, I'm talking. So listen. We've seen how deadly the full Intersect could be, even to trained agents."

"_Especially_ to trained agents…"

"Don't interrupt. We know how dangerous even the singleton memories could be, to a capable adult mind."

"Hartley had issues…"

"I'm not done. You and Mary created some wonderful children. One has only to look at Ellie, her strength, her kindness, to see the kind of person Chuck could have grown up to be."

"Chuck's strong…"

"He's nowhere near as strong as he would have been, without the Intersect."

Wait a minute, whose side was she taking? "That's what I mean…"

"No. It's not," said Sarah. "Whatever Chuck might have become before he got that first upload, he's ten times that now." She took Stephen's hand. "You're afraid because of Hartley, but Chuck isn't like him in any way. He wasn't an adult, they weren't singletons. They weren't anything at all, just empty files. That first upload opened up his mind into this vast space and he _filled it_. He grew into it, his mind is what it is because of it."

"A spy's mind." He pulled his hand away.

She let him go. "No, it's just the best use of all his abilities. He doesn't want to waste them, and he wants to do some good. 'With great power', and all that."

That stung. "He's not a superhero, he's a spy."

"So were you, or was everything you said in that spy will a lie?"

That stung more. "I was trying to save my family."

_Chuck saved it for you. _"He's a bigger man than you."

Sauce for the goose…"You don't mind seeing him in danger?"

"He isn't _in_ danger," she said. "Not anymore."

* * *

Carina stopped, looking through the glass to admire a man's behind as he stood, watching the scenery whizzing by. Her first response was a body-wide rendition of _Yummy!_, then _That's Chuck!, _followed immediately by _Oh crap, how do I write _this_ report?_ No way Sarah would take 'I recognized your husband by his ass' well. She activated her comm. "Guys, I found him, in the reserved section." She tugged at the door, but of course it was locked. With a flick of her fingers she popped open the lockpicks in the FRODO and got to work.

Seconds later the door popped open. He didn't turn. "Chuck?" She went into the room.

_Now_ he turned. "Carina? Don't–"

She stopped. "Don't what?"

He sagged. "Too late now. There's a bomb under my coat, and a trigger by the door."

She turned to look at the little gizmo. "What kind of trigger?"

"Motion detector, I think."

'Motion to', she was guessing, since she'd just done 'motion from' and was here to think about it. "Your motion or anybody's motion?"

"It didn't matter before, and to be honest I really don't want to experiment right now either."

She backed away. "Good point. Let me see the bomb."

"Better yet, let _me_ see the bomb," said Chuck."My hands are cuffed."

"Fine." She unzipped his coat. "Oh, God."

He looked down, not a great angle but enough for the purpose. "It's a Volkoff."

"I can't defuse that."

"Don't try," said Chuck. "This thing could destroy the whole car if it goes off. Just get out of here."

"Oh, yeah, like I'd survive that." Sarah would take the news so well. "We've got to get you off this train!"

"You've got to get Sarah off this train!"

"What?" said Carina.

"You've got to get Sarah off this train before Quinn finds out she's here," said Chuck.

"She's _not_ here, but who's Quinn?" asked Carina. "We came to rescue you from the Guan Yi."

Chuck blinked, puzzled. _She's not here? _"There's Guan Yi on the train?"

She gave him a look full of _Duh! _"When you were taken, we got a ransom demand, but it turned out to be a trap full of Guan Yi thugs. Sarah got us out of it, and we followed your trackers to Japan."

Chuck flashed. "Oh. I was wondering why Quinn would bring me to Japan, of all places, but now it makes sense. He's obsessed with Sarah. He must be planning to trade me for her, or for their help in capturing her, I guess, if they don't already have her. They don't have her, do they? Where is she?"

"Safe house, we had to leave her behind. She destroyed twenty-five guys by herself."

He remembered their wedding night, and scaled up. "Ouch."

She scanned the room, searching for a way out of their predicament. "Who is this Quinn?" The room gave her no clues.

"He's the guy who shot up Rizzo's car," said Chuck. "Probably behind you getting attacked in Russia, too. He was in that picture you took, of Sarah at that club."

That got her attention. She wanted to meet this guy. "Describe him."

Chuck gulped. She looked predatory, but not in the way she usually looked predatory. "Uh, shorter than me, vague accent," he said. "He looked sort of like that bad guy from Equilibrium, the one you thought was cute, only with dark hair and a beard."

The dining car guy! She raised her mike. "Casey–!"

"Step away from him, miss," said a man with a vague accent behind her.

* * *

Guillermo Chan stood in the shadows with his men, watching as the ever-so-efficient conductor strode through the car. It galled him to be reduced to this, but his future rode on this operation. Nothing could be allowed to upset it, especially not his own pride. The Guan Yi needed him, his expertise. The exchange project wasn't as successful as they'd hoped. The project itself ran smoothly, but with the ascension of Vivian Volkoff, her consolidation of power, governments around the world were putting all their efforts into interdiction. How else to explain the failures of their shipments, the ruin of their investors? Their best experts could detect no pattern, no sign that anyone had penetrated their systems.

The death of Carmichael would change all that.

At that moment the phone in his pocket buzzed, a hopeful sign. Quinn's signal that he was prepared to trade. Chan was even willing to make the trade, provided this man Quinn would accept a promissory note in place of the actual woman. Somehow Chan doubted that he would. That would be unfortunate, an agent in America would be a useful thing in his new future. Some concessions might be in order. Perhaps he would keep his word after all.

"We are going to the dining car," he told his men. "I will take two of you with me." The choice of men to accompany him was easy. The man who first dealt with Quinn in America had to be there, a friendly face of sorts. His second would be the other. "The rest will secure our route. Discreetly."

* * *

_One little mistake, that's all it takes._ Carina raised her hands, still with her back to him, and took a step to the left. At least Chuck would be out of the line of fire.

"Turn around," he said, and she turned. The European toad she saw in the dining car stood just inside the doorway of the room. He gave her a good long look, because he could and why not? "I thought I recognized you. I thought you might be some actress or model, but you're the agent from the hotel. You're supposed to be dead."

Carina shrugged.

"Put your hands down."

She complied, as he reached around the wall and pressed a switch on the trigger. Only then did he enter the room. "Zip him up. When your team gets here, call them in." It wouldn't do for the bomb on Chuck's chest to be blazingly obvious.

"Why should I?" she said, her hands busy with Chuck's jacket. The zipper snagged, and she had to work it free.

Quinn reached into his pocket. "Well, if you'd rather, I could wave them in myself, but then I'd have to take my hand off the deadman switch here and Agent Charles wouldn't like that."

"Fine." She tugged the zipper down again.

"Hurry it up."

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to putting men's clothes _on_ them," said Carina.

He looked her over again. "I'll bet."

Finally the zipper went up, and Carina stepped away from Chuck without needing to be told again.

"Good. Now we wait," said Quinn unnecessarily, standing back.

A few minutes later, Carina saw a flicker of movement outside the door. "Casey, Frost, come on in," she said calmly. "He's got Agent Charles wired to blow."

Quinn recognized the big guy from the hotel, too. "Who the hell are you?" he asked Frost.

Frost didn't miss a beat. "Their backup from Colorado Springs."

"She saved us, after your Guan Yi friends took Sarah," added Carina.

"Not friends," said Quinn, "Just an opportunity. Guns." All the guns were put on the floor carefully. "Over here." The owners kicked them towards him. Quinn took his hand from his pocket, with the detonator armed and ready. He put his own gun away so he could collect theirs. He studied a complicated and utterly unintelligible panel full of buttons decorating one wall and pressed one, opening a slot. He put their weapons into it, closing the panel when he was done. He pulled out his own weapon again. "Charles, behind me."

Chuck moved in between Quinn and his friends. "I think I'd rather stand in front of you."

Quinn considered his options, but most of them sucked. Murdering Charles' team wasn't a part of this deal. Those Chinese morons were supposed to have done it two days ago. "This way."

"After you."

Quinn backed to the door and Chuck moved after him. Quinn put his gun away, reaching around the corner and reactivated his little gizmo. "Motion detector," he said to the group on the other side of the room. "You stay over there, he lives a little longer." He opened the door and stepped out into the hall, and Chuck followed. "Say goodbye to your friends, Charles."

Chuck's arms tensed. "Sorry," he said to his team, his family, "I was gonna give you guys a jaunty little wave, but, you know…" His hands moved in the pockets.

Carina waved back at him.

Chuck smiled. "See you later."

* * *

**A/N2 **Okay, so I got a little cliché with Quinn stopping her just as Carina was about to warn Casey, but the section I overwrote had a lot more clichés than that, so count your blessings.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** I'm making up everything about the bullet train. I'm imagining it more as a slow airplane on the ground, rather than a very fast train. I'm having some trouble trying to understand why a commuter train would have staterooms and dining cars, but it's canon, so I'll go with it.

* * *

"_He smells like trouble." _

"_I'm not going to apologize." _

"_Like I'd survive that." _

"_See you later."_

* * *

"'See you later'?" asked Quinn, as they walked toward the dining car. "What kind of last words are those?"

"Hey, you said to say goodbye," said Chuck. "You didn't say anything about last words."

"I'm about to hand you over to the Guan Yi," said Quinn. "Someone robbed their bank and they think it was you, and they're not as forgiving as I am."

"So telling them you're giving them the wrong man…?"

"Not gonna work. They convinced themselves, I'm just riding on their train," Quinn chuckled. "So to speak. Sorry, but like I said, it's an opportunity."

"You know, I could still put in a good word for you, with Sarah…"

"Too late, Charles," snapped Quinn. "Agent Walker _will_ work for me, if only to make your death as painless as possible, but some deals you don't back out of."

* * *

Back in the reserved room…

"Who the hell was that?" asked Casey, as the door shut, sealing them in. Immediately he started looking over the room, but it was a bare as if just constructed. "I thought we were looking for Guan Yi."

"Chuck said his name was Quinn," said Carina. "Ex-CIA from the look of it."

"Obviously," said Casey. He pulled out another gun.

"Wow," said Carina, staring at it, so small in his hands. "Size _does_ matter."

"Didn't you just give him two?" asked Mary.

"What's your point, Bartowski?" Casey ignored Carina completely and looked out the window, trying to gauge their speed. _Too fast_ was the number he came up with. Even if he shot out the window, which he might be able to do at this range even with this peashooter, no one could hold on against that kind of headwind.

Mary realized that any questions involving Casey and guns would be either pointless or redundant, so she turned to Carina. "Who is Quinn, and what does he want with my son?"

"An exchange of some sort, according to Chuck," said Carina, telling what she knew. She looked for air vents, but the only ones she saw were small enough to fit on a high-tech Japanese train, i.e., smaller than her. "Quinn really wants Sarah, but he had Chuck, so he made a deal with the Guan Yi to trade."

Even the simple plans can have pinch points, and Frost excelled at finding those. "But they don't have Sarah."

"I think we need to get out of here before Quinn finds that out."

* * *

Somewhere in America…

"Any sign of him?" asked Vivian, hearing the cursing in the next room.

"No," said Decker, putting his phone in his pocket as he joined her. "Well, at least Tommy's happy."

"How can you tell?" As far as Vivian knew, Mr. Delgado only had the one expression.

"Simple," said Decker, with a malicious little grin. "He's taking his time. Don't worry. He'll be all business when we do our own break-in tomorrow night."

"Good," said Vivian, in that absent way that let the perceptive listener know she wasn't really listening.

Decker hadn't gotten where he was without being perceptive. "What's the matter? You're men will be there, right?" They needed a better class of idiot to break into the DARPA facility, and she was the money for the foreseeable future, so they were her men, not his. She owned the break-in, but he owned the actual theft.

"They've already arrived and are verifying your team's reconnaissance," said Vivian. "But as I was making their initial payment I discovered some odd activity in my accounts…"

"A mouse playing while the cat's away?"

"None of the people I employ would be so foolish," she said. "And those would most likely be thefts, but I'm seeing additional funds. I can't account for them."

"Bogus payments? Someone trying to trace your accounts?"

"It doesn't seem so," she said, before she remembered who she was talking to. "But then it wouldn't, would it? These confirmation codes all appear to be legitimate, but I have no record of having generated them. I–"

Decker waited, impatiently. He hated these computer games. He was much better at forcing answers out of people."You what?"

Vivian looked up for the first time. "Mr. Decker, what did you say happened to Hydra?"

* * *

On the far end of a train in motion…

Chan's men stood out like sore thumbs as they dispersed along the return route. Literally. At the speeds these trains moved, passengers could not be allowed to remain standing, in case of a sudden deceleration. Even the dining car was only available to certain cars, at certain times, in order to minimize the chance of someone being caught on their feet in an emergency.

Having Guillermo Chan on board counted as an emergency, and most of the paying passengers stayed buckled up with their heads down. No foolish heroics from office-workers, or vacationing families. Most important, the aisles would be kept clear.

Up ahead Chan saw a light change, the dining car announcing that it would soon be closed, but he didn't slow, even as the exiting patrons started blocking his path. That's what henchmen were for.

* * *

In a safe house in LA somewhere…

"You're taking this awfully calmly, considering the circumstances that brought you here," said Stephen. She'd fallen asleep in his car. While it warmed him to know that she had him on her 'safe' list, with the current strains in their relationship it couldn't have been easy. His wife had only given him a laundry list of the events of their night, but being eleven kinds of a genius, he could fill in the missing pieces easily enough.

Sarah twitched, barely able to remember those circumstances. Lots of enemies and no Chuck. The rest was a blur, until Frost, but her suffering had only just begun. Until her team was on its way she couldn't stop, couldn't rest. "That's because they're all with him now, and not with me," she said.

Orion knew very well who 'they' were, and where they were. "Three agents against an army of thugs with a train full of hostages."

"Not an army, not in Japan, and four agents. Chuck is there, too." That took care of the hostage problem as far as Sarah was concerned.

"He's a prisoner!"

"Maybe," said Sarah. "Or maybe he's just doing a very convincing imitation of one…"

"Unarmed, surrounded by bad guys with guns."

"…Until they take him where he wants to be. Didn't you once blow up a helicopter you were in at the time?"

He did. And he knew she knew he did. Sometimes the only way to avoid being captured is to give yourself up, keep some options open.

She sat forward, resting her arms on her knees. "How'd you survive that, anyway?"

"Simple," said the scientist formerly known as Orion. "I knew the missile was coming, and from what angle. I just leaped out of the chopper on the other side, and rode the blast wave back to the side of the building, a few floors down from the roof. You were all looking at the explosion so you didn't even see me." He'd had a Predator drone, his wrist computer. He always had something. "Chuck has nothing."

If Chuck was surrounded by men with guns, then of course he had something. "You don't know your son very well, do you?"

* * *

On a train in Japan, just outside the dining car…

Quinn made Chuck stand behind him, as he did something with yet another of the control panels that seemed to be just everywhere. "Got to clear the dining room," said Quinn to a question no one asked. "Unless you'd rather I killed everyone inside instead."

"No, no," said Chuck. "Take your time, I'm in no rush."

Quinn ignored him, staring instead at his tablet, and the video feed it received from the camera he'd placed on the side of the counter while ordering his lunch. "Okay, there goes the crowd. And hello, Mr. Chan." Quinn growled a bit, in the back of his throat. "No sign of Walker."

"Why would there be?" said Chuck. "He's got more men than you, he can force you to show your hand first."

"Maybe," said Quinn. "And maybe he's trying to jerk me around."

Chuck huffed in disbelief. "Well of course he's trying to jerk you around. You think he got to head a bank for the Chinese Mafia by playing nice?"

"I don't care if he plays nice as long as he plays me straight," muttered Quinn. "I want her, he wants you, this could be good for both of us."

_For about five minutes. _"You don't know Sarah very well, do you?"

The confidence in Chuck's voice was really starting to get on Quinn's nerves. "I know that until I get what I want, she's going to be my good little soldier."

"The same way you also knew that no one was coming for me?" said Chuck.

"You think they're coming to save you a second time?" Quinn smiled his mad smile. "Sorry to disappoint you, Charles, but I didn't set the trigger, back there. I set the self-destruct. Not much, not enough to kill on its own but more than enough to blow out the windows." On a train moving at two hundred miles an hour. The slipstream alone would pull them out. Chuck's face fell into grim lines, which just made Quinn smile more. "Too bad we can't wait, let you hear it, but I think you'll have other things on your mind then." Quinn checked his screen again. Chan and his guard looked bored and impatient, while the guy he knew from Colorado was taking food from the serving area. _Still an idiot._ He grabbed Chuck's arm. "Showtime."

* * *

Mr. Chan was watching the door when it opened, and he had his first sight of the mysterious but very welcome Mr. Quinn, the man who would save his life. Short, thick, he seemed both very capable and highly unstable. That was good. It reduced the already very small amount of displeasure Chan felt at not being able to meet Quinn's price. That was a matter of pride, not principal, but fortunately for them, the men who'd failed him were already beyond the reach of Chan's wrath.

Following Quinn like an obedient, if very tall, puppy came the hated Carmichael, and Chan's slitted eyes narrowed still further. "We have you at last, Carmichael."

"No," said Chuck, "But I guess you won't believe me about that."

"I would not believe anything that came out of your mouth except your tongue," said Chan. "If you speak to me again, that will be the first part of your body I will have my men cut off."

"You can do what you want with him _after_ I get what I want," said Quinn. "Where's Walker?"

"I do not know, Mr. Quinn," said Chan calmly. "The team I sent to obtain her has not returned."

"We had a deal!"

"And I regret that I am unable to keep it," said Chan, not sounding regretful. His men drew their guns and aimed at him.

Quinn pulled his hand from his pocket. "Shoot me and you all die," he said, holding up the deadman switch. "On his chest is a Volkoff T2 Plasma grenade, powerful enough to melt this car."

Chan gestured, and his men lowered their arms. "You are a clever man, Mr. Quinn, and ruthless. An alliance would be beneficial to us both. It's a pity we cannot reach an agreement on such a small matter as the eventual disposition of Carmichael's woman."

"I don't need her because she's a woman, I need her because she's a thief of great skill," said Quinn.

Chan wondered what he needed to steal so badly, and whether it would be worthwhile to humor him until they could steal it themselves. "You will have her," said Chan, "After we have dealt with your prisoner, soon to be our prisoner."

"She won't do what I want if he's dead."

"I cannot allow him to live."

"You don't have to let him live, just don't kill him until I get what I want from Walker. You can just torture him until then, can't you?"

"Until you get what you want, _if_ you get what you want," said Chan. And how would they know he'd gotten what he wanted, except by throwing more resources into a project they'd already gotten their payout from. "I think not."

"We appear to be at an impasse."

"Indeed we do," said Chan.

Quinn drew his gun and shot the idiot from Colorado who'd gotten him into this mess. "I hate impasses." Shrill screams made it through the door from the next car behind Chan.

"You really _aren't_ very forgiving, are you?" said Chuck.

Some large Chinese thugs made it through the door from the next car behind Chan as well. He puffed up in irritation. "You try my patience, Mr. Quinn. We will take Carmichael now."

Quinn brandished his trigger. "Try it, and see how far you get!"

Something that sounded like an explosion came through the door behind Quinn, and Chuck flinched. So did Quinn, but for the opposite reason. Chuck thought he knew what it was, Quinn knew what it wasn't. "You want him, you can have him," he shouted, as the door behind him opened and Casey barged on through, followed by Mary and Carina. Quinn pushed Chuck into Chan's men, pressed the switch into Chan's hand, and continued through to the far side, fleeing the field.

"He's getting away," said Casey.

Chan, for his part, added up all the pluses and minuses of the situation in neat little columns. "If you want him," he said, moving aside, "You can have him." His men, already pushed out of the way, stayed where they were.

"Casey, go," said Carina. "We've got this."

Casey went after Quinn, pushing through to the next car. "Where?" he bellowed, flashing his credentials. They didn't mean anything, but now he looked official, and all the passengers that weren't recording the whole thing pointed to the back of the car. As he was pushing through the far door the train suddenly lurched, decelerating. He would have fallen but a man's hand on his hip kept him upright. He looked at the passenger and nodded politely. "Domo," he said, the only Japanese word he knew.

"You're welcome," said the man.

On the other side of the door he found the reason for the sudden change, a roof hatch was open, the alarm beeping. He swung up the ladder, risking a look since it was unlikely Quinn would be any kind of a threat up there, and he was right. In the far, far distance he could see a parachute, a fast way off and a slow way down. "Dammit." He ducked back down and closed the hatch, and the beeping stopped.

Beneath him the door banged open and someone tall pushed through, followed by someone not so tall. Chan, getting away with Chuck while his men did what men like them were paid to do. Casey dropped to the aisle, gun in hand, but he couldn't shoot with all the passengers around. He knew his duty. Miller and Frost were on their–

The door banged open again, catching him on the back. "Come on, Casey," yelled Carina as they ran down the aisle, "Don't just stand there!"

From car to car they ran, leapfrogging as one after another of Chan's men tried to slow them down and failed. In the last passenger car they caught up to Chan, as he fumbled with the lock. When the door opened, he pushed Chuck toward them as he jumped inside and slammed the door behind him. Casey pulled at the door but it was sealed.

The baggage car uncoupled from the rest of the train, Chuck on one side, the reverse proximity trigger in Chan's hand on the other as the gap between them slowly widened. They watched through the window as he looked back at them, holding up the detonator for them to see. He pressed the trigger–

The freight car blew up, the front end lifting off the tracks as a bomb designed to boil metal burned through plastic and ceramics with ease. The car was moving almost as fast as the fireball, though, and hurled itself from the tracks even as it ruptured along its entire length. Track sensors registered a 'condition' and later trains would be slowed but not stopped as the nature of the 'condition' was investigated.

Casey grunted with appreciation. "Wish Alex could have been here to see _that_."

Mary turned to Chuck and unzipped his coat. The strap across his chest dangled, sliced through in two places. His shirt had some bloodstains on it. "What happened?"

Chuck pulled his hands from his pockets. "It's not like I could see what I was doing, you know," he said, carefully not making any obscene gestures at his mother to display the bloody nail on his middle finger. He held out the other hand to Carina. "Your key, madam." On his palm lay one of her false fingernails, broken off, the one with the handcuff key on it.

"You owe me a new set," she said, picking up the fragment.

"Done." He looked around, at all the smiling faces recording the scene for posterity. "Let's go find a spot to get our story straight, before they come to arrest us."

* * *

In a paid-for stateroom at the front of the train…

"Thank you, ma'am," said Casey into his phone, and he put it away. "The General will call the State Department, try to expedite our release, but we could be here a while."

Chuck shrugged, it was about the best they could hope for. "How'd you get out of here, anyway?"

"Well, it turns out _someone_ here can recognize a bedroom at twenty paces," said Casey. "Even if it was recessed into the wall." He pointed to the ruined sleeping area.

"It helped that your mother could read Japanese, and could tell which button opened it," said Carina. She pointed to the damaged panel.

"And that we had a marksman with us, who could hit that small a target from across the room," said Frost. "Casey went in and kicked out the ceiling fixture, and Carina crawled into the next cabin and opened the door from the outside."

"Speaking of which, these really aren't the most durable lockpicks I've ever had…"

"You're already getting a new set, what more do you want?"

Casey's phone rang, and he pulled it out again. "Hello? Orion? Why are you–what do you mean, 'gone'?"

Everyone looked at him, and he put up a finger.

"No, we found him, we've got him right here. They're about to arrest us…Check the evening news, you'll know why…call the General, see if she can expedite the expedite…If not, tell her I said to use the second string, she'll know what I mean. Fine. Yeah. Look, we're pulling in now, and the police will take us into custody, so get things moving. We'll contact you when we're able. Yeah. Good luck."

"And?" said Chuck mildly.

"And…you've been captured by Vivian Volkoff," said Casey. "And Sarah's missing."

* * *

**A/N2 **No, I do not know where this story is going. Hopefully I'll get some ideas by next episode.

Other bits of silliness from the Bullet train episode include the idea that a train could just lose a car and not stop to find out why, or that a loose car on the track wouldn't get smashed or otherwise cause trouble on a line where trains come through every few minutes, or that a man with an unconscious woman would be able to get from some hill in Japan faster than two agents with incentive could get to the same hill.

As for Chan, well, I wasn't planning to blow up Decker.


	13. Intents & Purposes

**A/N** The flashcard scene at the end of Bullet Train is one of the more unpleasant yet important scenes. I couldn't avoid it, so I repurposed it. As anyone who's read this far knows, I'm a sucker for a good dream sequence, or other ways of portraying deep insights in symbolic forms. Most of the time those sorts of things are rendered in italics, to separate them from the flow of the story, but those scenes are so prominent here I had to keep them in normal font, otherwise you'd get eyestrain reading them. Feel free to thank me in the comments.

* * *

_"Agent Walker _will_ work for me__." _

_"What did you say happened to Hydra?"_

_"You don't know Sarah very well__." _

_"Sarah's missing__." _

* * *

Earlier that morning (in fact, so early that it was really late in the previous night)…

Clyde Decker walked over to the bar in the corner and made himself a drink, secure in the knowledge that someone else would be paying for it.

Vivian set her laptop down on the table. "I'm waiting, Mr. Decker." Her tone implied she was doing him a great favor by doing so and that this would not last. They needed her, or so they said, and she quite liked being in positions of power like that. The existence of Hydra, or her father, threatened that happy condition, especially when someone like Decker knew more about those matters than she did.

"I was only surmising, of course," said Decker, with his malicious grin.

"You must have had some basis for your surmise," she said, and pointed to her computer. "And now we appear to have more." She played one of her lowest-ranked cards, a small secret but a secret nonetheless. "The Contessa was destroyed, Mr. Decker, I had those charges planted myself, and the database was not copied where it should have been."

He trumped it, as she'd expected. His sort love to come off better in such exchanges, just like he preferred to stand while she sat. He came over and stood, looming over her. "Who says it should have been copied anywhere?"

She just had. She sat back, completely at her ease. To her mind, minions stood, but why point that out to the minions. "Those were my father's final instructions, before that infernal Mr. Charles locked it off, and struck him down."

Decker laughed, looking down on her, and doled out the scrap she so clearly wanted. "Mr. Charles erased your father when he looked into a retina scan, Vivian."

_Oh._ "Of course."

* * *

Much closer to now than that…

Sarah sat in darkness, sore and uncomfortable. A light shone from above but revealed nothing except the things she already knew, herself, and the chair she sat in. She saw nothing securing her to that chair, but still she couldn't move.

A pair of feet stepped into the light, clad in tight leather boots, but the body above them stayed in shadow. "Mrs. Bartowski." The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it. The legs paced around the circle but the speaker didn't come into the light. "Good, you're finally with me. Now we can begin."

Sarah looked around. No clues, nothing. Just moving feet and an unmoved voice. "Whoever you are, wherever we are, you have to know that my team will find–"

"Shh," said the speaker, as if speaking to a child, and for some reason Sarah shut up. A hand stroked her hair, as the feet moved behind her. "Don't. It's just you and me now. Until I get what I want, we're doing it my way. No more left turns, no more screw ups." A pair of sunglasses were thrown on the ground in front of her. "You need some help with your thinking."

"Those won't work on me," said Sarah, grateful beyond measure to Orion, that this was true. "And I don't work for you." She tried to work her hands free but there didn't seem to be anything to work them free of.

Hands gripped her shoulders. "You do and you will, until our objective is secure," said the cold, cold voice, so tantalizingly familiar. "Those won't work on you, but these will." A hand gripped the top of her head, pulling up on her eyelids, while another held a card in front of her face, a bizarre geometric drawing etched into it. The design caught her attention, focusing her mind and vision on whatever it was made to focus them on.

Sarah flashed.

* * *

The woman was huge, and red. Fuzzy and uncertain.

An easy mark, just like her Daddy said. Young girl, charity, and junk food, a winning combination. She kept a smile on her face and kept on talking. "And, as a special deal, if you buy one of every box, you can get twenty percent off your entire order–" she listed the surprisingly large number and types of baked goods quickly, the woman's jaw going slack and pupils dilating with something like shock, while she looked at the wad of cash in the woman's hand and calculated quickly "–a grand total of eighty-four dollars." A big house, a fancy car, she wouldn't miss it.

The woman looked down. "That's…exactly what I have here…"

Of course it was. She reached out and took the money from between the woman's fingers, slack with surprise. "Thanks, Miss. Your cookies will arrive next month."

She marched off, barely catching the woman's whispered, "Okay" as she closed the door. Sucker.

* * *

The flash ended, and the light shining in Sarah's eyes was just light, painfully bright. That wasn't why she was wincing, though.

_Sucker._

"They suckered you," said Mary's voice, in one ear. Offered her something huge, the biggest thing in her world but they couldn't have known that, in exchange for something small. The surest sign a game was going on, and she fell for it anyway.

"I taught you all the cons," said her father's voice, in the other. He didn't give them fancy names, like they did in the movies, but she knew them all.

"So I'd never be a sucker," said Sarah, breathlessly. But she _was_ one, just the same. Learning all the cons didn't do a damn thing to prepare her for all the truths out there, like Chuck. So alert for lies, she'd been completely blindsided by Chuck's openness and honesty. She'd been completely unprepared for a world where the lies she lived in and relied upon simply didn't exist, and couldn't be told. She'd had to learn to walk again, leaning on him, something real. Then someone stole her crutch and she fell. Over and over, and each time he helped her to stand again. Lessons learned but not the most important one, it seemed.

They couldn't take away her crutch if she didn't have a crutch.

"Better," said the person behind her, as if she could hear all the voices speaking in Sarah's head. Another card flashed before her eyes.

* * *

"You think the ball is under _which_ cup?" she asked the stuffed giraffe. "This one?" She turned the plastic tea cup over. No ball. "You see," she said, turning over the other cups, "The ball isn't under any cup. It's really in my pocket." She pulled it out and showed them. "Like my daddy says, once you know all the cons, you'll never be a sucker."

She heard voices in the yard, angry ones, and she went to look out the window.

"Your daughter needs a father!"

"She can count on me."

She could count on her father, of course she could. He was teaching her the cons, so she'd never be a sucker. She didn't want to be a sucker, it sounded like such a bad thing when her daddy said it.

She climbed out the window, her most precious possessions in a pillowcase, and threw herself into his car as he tried to drive away. "I don't want to live with grandma. I'm coming with you." Grandma never went on adventures. She knew Grandma loved her, well, she was pretty sure. A lot of the things Grandma told her sounded a lot like being a sucker so she wasn't totally sure, and she wanted to have adventures. Just being with her daddy was an adventure, he was someone new every week, maybe even every day.

She wished she could do that.

He didn't look happy. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"But I brought this," she said, holding out her piggy bank. It had all her money in the world, and all your money in the world should get you an adventure, right? And then on that adventure she'd get more money, and that would get her another adventure. What a great racket! "You need it, right?"

She could tell by the look on his face that he did. "I can't sweetie. This is your money." He loved her, he had to. He didn't want to take her money.

"I know you're good for it," she said, in a tone she usually reserved for suckers, and he looked uncertain. He always said everyone could be a sucker sometimes, maybe this was his time. She pushed harder. "Plus we don't need that money to have an adventure together."

He smiled, and gave in. Maybe he wanted to be a sucker, just this once. "You're right. All we need is you and me."

* * *

The light didn't hurt her eyes this time, she was scowling so. A twenty-year-old pain was new again. "He lied to me!"

"People do that," said her unseen tormentor casually, as if her heartbreak was nothing of any consequence.

Her anger ramped up. Chuck would have offered her comfort, with open arms. Chuck wasn't here, and would never see his wife in this state. "He played me! He said we'd have an adventure together, but the next day I was at home again. Grandma didn't even know we were gone. And he took my money!" How could she pay for another adventure without money?

"He was good for it."

"No, he wasn't," said the betrayed little girl inside Sarah furiously. "He took my money and went off on adventures without me."

"You made better ones on your own, without him," said the voice. "And he _was_ good for it, in the end. Didn't you ever wonder how he could give Hannah such a nice wedding with her little budget?"

It _was_ a nice wedding, even though she'd been sure all the way through it that it was just another con job, with her best non-spy friend as the mark. She'd paid more attention to impending doom than she had to the vows, something else he'd robbed her of. She remembered dancing with her father, discovering it wasn't a con after all. He was doing what she had done long ago, trying to put his vast knowledge of underhanded chicanery to good use, but unlike her, he couldn't keep it up very long. _Too much like work._

* * *

Hannah sat at her work station and stared at her screen. The words on it weren't scrolling upward faster than she could read. They weren't even moving as fast as she could type. She took another sip of her tea, not Earl Grey, unfortunately, but that seemed to be putting her to sleep lately.

Her phone trilled, and she put it on speaker. "Hey Manoosh."

"You okay? I sensed a disturbance in the Force."

She smiled at that. "No, just…sitting here staring at my screen and feeling sorry for myself." She'd stayed late last night, and got nothing. She'd come in early this morning, and got nothing. Fortunately she and her new husband–she rubbed the ring on her finger without noticing it–worked in the same building at the same time, otherwise he'd never get a chance to see her.

"Hey, don't you ever sell yourself short–"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Hannah. When people started quoting her to herself she knew she was in trouble. She grabbed a post-it and scribbled a note, sticking it on her monitor. Enough of this crap. Tonight was husband appreciation night. He should be the center of her life, and he was, and it was high time she reminded herself of that fact.

Of course, she still had to get through the day. "I'm just tired of saying 'I don't know' to the General, that's all. I feel like I'm letting her down."

"Well, didn't I tell you to not fire on all cylinders all the time," said Manoosh. "You've spoiled her."

"That's right, blame me just because it's my fault."

"It's not like you can force yourself to be brilliant," said Manoosh with a little less cynicism. "You should go out with the hubby, do something non-work-related, and you'll probably wake up with the answer. That's what I do, except for the whole 'going out with someone else' part."

"Have you ever tried?"

"I have high standards!" _Especially now._ "It's not my fault that all the best girls are already taken. Anyway, enough about me," he said in self-defense. "What was the problem again?"

She sighed. "White male, dark hair, shorter than Casey, wider than Casey–"

"That's helpful."

"Apparently kidnaps Chuck, possibly arranges to kill Sarah, unless the Guan Yi did it, then changes his mind and arranges to kill everyone _but_ Sarah, unless the Guan Yi did _that_…"

"Why does it have to be about Sarah?" asked Manoosh, suddenly. Hannah was always going on about Sarah.

Hannah jumped on that thought. Anything was better than the nothing she had. "What do you mean?"

What _did_ he mean? "I mean, don't ask why someone took Sar-Agent Bartowski out of the trap, ask why they left Agent Miller in it."

"And Casey," said Hannah absently, considering that question in her head.

"You've met Casey, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know why someone would leave him in the trap," said Manoosh. "But okay, for your sake, Casey and Miller. What did they do, or not do, that someone would leave them to die?"

_Oh._ "Of course."

* * *

"Who are you?" said Sarah in her most dangerous voice, the one that sounded like nothing at all. "And how do you know about Hannah?"

"The same way I know everything else about your life, Mrs. Bartowski." The voice got all silken and condescending. "Such a good friend she's been to you."

Poison and pens, Rafe Gruber. Volkoff. Such bravery, such terror. Uncountable late-night conversations about, oh, anything. The wedding of her dreams. Her good friend. H\The rage just rocketed along, her friend her wedding her money hers hers hers–"No one touches what's mine," snarled Sarah, savagely jerking against whatever held her to the chair, only to hurt herself in the process.

"Better." Someone pulled her hair, and showed her another card.

* * *

She rode a bicycle in Butte, Montana, one adventure coming up. Not really much of an adventure, though, she'd pulled this stunt too many times. Now it was just work. The armored car was huge, and she calculated how far from it she could be, to be out of sight of the driver while being as far from the truck as she could be. This bit was getting old, or she was getting too old, too tall, for this bit.

The truck jerked into gear, but hadn't moved more than an foot before she screamed loud enough to be heard over the engine. She pitched off the cheap bike, making sure to shove it under the tires.

Screaming, yelling, running, yeah, yeah, yeah. She lay still, counting out the steps in her head. Keys-door-money-car, and…"I'm a doctor." And they believed him. They wanted to believe him. Like she'd wanted to believe him, once.

She wasn't that girl anymore. First she'd had adventures, then she'd had experiences, and now? Now she had jobs. Big jobs. Her father had seen what she could do and used it to pull off much bigger cons than he used to, or, like this armored car, simple grand larceny. He lived better than ever, for a while, but the money always ran out.

Her ribs didn't hurt, but her wrist did. The truck had been too close. This stunt would have to be retired, too bad. Didn't matter, he'd think up something else, he always did. She had that much faith in him, at least.

* * *

The flash ended with Sarah looking into the light, blinking slowly. Her wrist hurt, a memory of a long-ago pain, but her father had taught her to ignore pain. Someone was rubbing her wrist, and she looked down. It was her own hand, throttling the pain away. She was loose, she was…free.

The feet moved around in front of her again, and she knew that whoever stood above those feet was assessing her, but she didn't care. "I want…" she said quietly, deliberately, as if her wants were the most important things in the world, "…some ice cream."

The feet walked forward, light illuminating the legs, the waist, the body, but Sarah didn't look up that far. She was tired, she couldn't raise her head, she could only look down, watch herself soothe away her own pain.

The speaker crouched down before her, and reached out a hand to take Sarah's chin lightly between her fingers, raising her face up gently. Blue eyes gazed into blue eyes. _There you are. Your father's daughter._ "Better," said Agent Walker.

* * *

Sarah opened her eyes, wide awake in bed, listening. Not a sound. Either Orion had closed the door to his basement (assuming said door was soundproof) or he'd gone to bed. With Mary gone Sarah doubted he had many other activities. Still, she reached out and snagged the microphone half of the baby monitor and turned it off, just to be on the safe side.

Mary, gone to Japan. With her team (_mine!_), in _her_ place (_mine!_), and no one could fault her for that decision. So right, yet it felt so very wrong. Sarah made a mental note to check the news once she was on her way to…where? No idea. She felt an impulse to move, so she moved, sitting up in the bed and swinging her legs to the side. She wasn't tired, not anymore, and soreness was something to be ignored. She considered turning on the light, but that would probably set off an alarm somewhere. There was enough moonlight for her purposes.

The glasses case sat there on the table, next to her phone. _You need some help with your thinking_. What help would a pair of glasses she couldn't use be?

She opened the case, took out the glasses, and moved to the window, ignoring her pain. She unfolded the earpieces, and held the glasses in front of her eyes.

_Oh._ "Of course."

* * *

**A/N2 **I did a similar bit, Sarah against Sarah, for one of my first fanfictions, but since the whole setup for that story is being undone, I'm taking that idea and moving in a different way. It won't be like what I did with Chuck and Carmichael, either, but that's for next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** A lot of people praise these stories for their 'tweaking' of canon. The problem is that canon is so desperately in need of tweaking. The scriptwriters had a lot of good ideas but even in season three they failed to place or exploit them as well as they might have. I think the loss of Matt Bomer took them by surprise, and forced them to rewrite a lot of stuff at the last minute. Much of that season could have worked, with Bryce Larkin's extensive backstory to fall back on, but with a new character it just wouldn't. They had to develop Shaw at a dead run and didn't manage it well. If they'd dropped the wt/wt stuff Shaw's lack of affect and insanity could have worked. The only reason S3 had any real power, and it had a lot, is because the scriptwriters were very good, and using very powerful tropes, that told the story in spite of the plot. S4 and S5 didn't have those writers, so the stories are mostly just handfuls of sparkly bits embedded in a lot of not so sparkly stuff, to the point where I don't know if 'tweaking' is the right word anymore for the changes I have to make. I'm moving those bits all over the place, trying to find places for them that allow them to contribute to the plot rather than just sit there and sparkle.

* * *

_"I'm waiting__." _

_"He lied to me!"_

_"No one touches what's mine__." _

_"Of course__." _

* * *

"Vanished?" asked Decker.

"No, thank God," said Vivian. One of those was enough. Fortunately it was before Decker's time, or she'd not be in the place she was right now, to be sure. "They were quite readily captured." They wouldn't have been if Agent Charles had been leading her men, she was certain of that much.

Decker shook his head. "Grunts." No real harm done to their plans, except for the non-accomplishment of their immediate goals. "So what's your next step?" he asked, dropping the responsibility, and the blame, on her.

"Well, we retrieve them, of course," said Vivian, as if it were obvious, but from the expression on his face, that may have been a charitable assumption on her part. "Keep faith with your employees, Mr. Decker, or soon you will find you have none that keep faith with you."

He didn't care. "Fine," said Decker dismissively. "We'll have them transferred, and they can escape en route, or something. That won't get us any closer to our goals."

Vivian's phone rang, and she answered it. "Mr. Quinn," she said, eyebrows arching with a surprise she managed to keep out of her voice, and Decker looked very interested. "How nice to hear your voice again. To what do I owe the pleasure? You need a favor? Well, as it happens, I am in need of some assistance myself. Perhaps we can be of service to each other. Yes, I rather thought you might. What can I do for you?"

* * *

Two nights later…

_She ran out onto the balcony, but only his watch remained. 'Come with me if you want him to live.'_

She rolled over. No. –flicker–

_She ran out of the bathroom, but only a watch and a plastic fork remained. 'You lost him.' _

No. She got him back! –flicker–

'_Excuse me.' Chuck pushed the nightmares away. 'Trust me, Sarah.' He kissed her, enclosing her with his arms, a universe just big enough for two. 'Don't do that', came Ellie's voice from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, commanding obedience, however unwilling._

No? –flicker–

'_This is my special place.' She sat next to him, toes in the sand, boots by her side. The beach was wide and exposed. And bright. The California sun shone, but the air took all the warmth away._

"Chuck?" said Sarah, rolling over under the covers. "My feet are cold." She moved them toward him, so that he could catch them between his own, warming her feet and her heart at the same time. She reached for him, throwing an arm across her chest, snuggling up close.

She was still cold.

Her husband's broad, muscular chest was strangely soft, the heat of him, the smell of him, the experience of him was missing. His feet may as well have been crumpled socks, or folds in the blanket, for all the warmth and comfort they gave. "Chuck?"

"Sarah."

His voice was soft in her ear, too soft. A whisper in the darkness. She could almost imagine she hadn't heard it at all. Sarah Bartowski knew her man, and whatever wasn't right was most definitely wrong. "Chuck?" she said, waking, trying to sense enemies in the darkness. She pulled against him, and met almost no resistance whatsoever.

The pillow she clutched to her chest was firm, but not that firm. The T-shirt she'd wrapped around it held traces of him, but the pillow held none of his warmth, so the scent was faint at best. She was alone in the bed, not her bed, just…a bed.

She hated being alone. It was like pole-vaulting, something she could do if she had to but never a preferred option. She settled against the substitute-him, breathing deeply, to catch what little comfort she could. She didn't want to think about where he might be, what he might be going through right this minute.

_Sarah._ Not even his voice. More like…like…somewhere in the world he'd spoken her name, and the air wanted to make sure she knew it. Or something. She was no good at those kinds of comparisons.

She had to get him back.

The signal in Japan was strong, but the signal in Colorado was close. They'd been fooled by one false signal already, and whoever kidnapped him had stripped off the other two. What if…what if…? She inhaled again, his scent stronger. The 'what ifs' of the world could kill you, or make you wish you were dead.

What if she'd stuck to her duty in Burbank that day, rather than telling Chuck the truth? No, that was no 'what if', that was more like a 'have you lost your mind.' Her choice, her life. She'd never really had any other options, not since that first date. How could she turn down her very own baggage handler?

What if she'd never been sent after the Intersect? What if she'd never met Chuck at all? Sarah pulled her covers up, trying not to remember the woman she'd been back then, and succeeding. She hadn't really _been_ a woman back then, just a female agent. If she hadn't met him, probably she'd be dead by now. More dead, that is, all the way dead, with her chocolate-coated miracle wasting away in Burbank. Hmm, chocolate and Chuck…

Nope, no memories of chocolate-covered Chuck, have to fix that. She called up an old favorite.

'_Fix my phone?' she said. 'Sure,' he said. 'Ah, the Intellicell. Here you go. One little screw, fix you right up.' He gave her the phone back, and their hands touched…_

She drifted back to sleep, frowning slightly. Not one, and definitely not little…

* * *

"Missing?" asked General Beckman. "You have no internal surveillance?"

"I don't spy on family, General," said Stephen, sounding annoyed.

"Perhaps you should start," said Beckman. She considered briefly how to get her team back from Japan any faster. She might have to trade favors, something she hated to do. "Do we have any idea where she went?"

_What 'we'?_ "She sent me an image. Whoever bounced it around knew what they were doing, I can't pinpoint a source." He put the image on the screen. "The guy holding him is the guy who was at the maternity ward. Chuck called him Tommy."

The man with all the bruises certainly looked like Agent Bartowski. "Thomas Delgado." Beckman remembered the report. "Taking his revenge, it seems. Your son was instrumental in his capture some years ago." She looked away from the image. "I'll pass this information to my analytical team. Hopefully we can find her before the rest of her team gets back."

"Good luck, General." Orion terminated the transmission, and got out his phone, pressing a contact. "Casey? Sarah's in Colorado. Of course I'm sure. Of course she's bugged, what kind of a father-in-law do you think I am?"

* * *

Today…

Sarah woke to the sound of a knock on the door. The room was decorated in hotel-bland, which was all right since she was in a hotel room. An upper floor, since being on the ground floor last time made it entirely too easy for bad men to do bad things. She pulled the shirt off the pillow and stuffed it in her suitcase, pulling out a robe, easy to slide out of, with nice pockets to hide whatever she might want to have in her hands. "Who is it?"

"Concierge," said a man's voice through the door.

She got her pistol, and her periscope. 'Concierge' was a also a code, meant to be used in hotels like this one, where they were more likely to say 'front desk' than 'concierge'. Gun at the ready, she put the periscope against the peephole, standing safely off to one side in case someone tried to shoot through the door.

A man, possibly alone, with an ID held up for her to see. She stuffed the scope in her pocket, threw the door open and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him into the room in case someone might have been standing out of sight. The man almost shouted but remembered himself in time, keeping his hands up as she pushed him against the wall and slammed the door. "Who are you?" she asked, ignoring the picture and the name on the paper he held.

"The name's Quinn, Agent Walker," said the man. "Nicholas Quinn. FBI." He held the wallet up, the best fake credentials money could buy, especially when the person he was showing them to couldn't check their authenticity with a phone call.

She looked it over and backed off. "What are you doing here, Agent Quinn?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said, putting the wallet away and straightening his coat. "A high-profile target is kidnapped out of this very hotel and I have to wait _how long_ to interview the people he was checked in with?"

"We had a ransom demand, and my team was ready to handle the matter…"

"Your team," said Quinn. "Well, I hope someone on your team has some kind of jurisdiction to act in-country 'cause you sure don't."

"We do," said Sarah, and she left it at that.

"That's not good enough…"

"It'll have to do, Mr. Quinn," said Sarah. "Unless you'd rather wake up in that rather comfortable bed over there, with no idea how you got there, and no hope of finding me again."

"But it'll have to do," grumbled Quinn. "You still haven't answered my question, Walker. Why are you here, now?" As opposed to not-here, then.

Sarah went back to her suitcase, keeping this Agent Quinn in view the whole time, and put her gear back where it belonged. "The drop was a trap, but it failed. I remained behind due to my injuries while the rest of the team went out-country after Agent Charles."

"You look okay now," said Quinn, rubbing his shoulder for effect. "You here for the skiing?"

Sarah slammed the case shut. "I needed a staging area. I have evidence that Charles not only never left the country, he never left Colorado."

"What evidence?"

Sarah picked up her phone from the table and called up a photo, handing it to Quinn.

"That's Charles? He looks like crap. Who's the guy holding his leash?"

"Thomas Delgado," said Sarah, "A sociopath, and a murderer. He works for a man named Decker, a psychopath and a murderer. I'm pretty sure they're in Denver."

He handed the phone back. "How?"

"There was an attempted break-in at an office building there." She answered his 'so what?' before he asked it. "It housed a DARPA facility."

"DARPA?" asked Quinn incredulously. "Why would a bunch of kidnappers want to piss off the DoD?"

_More than them. _At this point, the DoD was at the far back of the line. "That's what I'm going to go find out. I can think of a few reasons and none of them are good."

"I'm coming with you."

"Of course you are, Mr. Quinn," said Sarah pleasantly. "As you just pointed out, I'm not allowed to operate in-country on my own. Wait outside, in the lobby, wherever. I'll get dressed and be right out."

* * *

"Good morning," said Sarah politely to the receptionist, showing her CIA credentials. "Agent Charles. I'm here to see the Director."

The lady behind the desk validated the ID. 'Charles' was on the list of known aliases. "Is he expecting you?"

Sarah scowled at her. "If he does someone's head will roll."

The receptionist took the hint and called the Director. He came to the lobby himself and ushered in his famous visitor personally, after a standard weapons check, while Quinn waited in the lobby. As they walked the halls they chatted pleasantly about matters of no importance whatsoever. Only in the Director's office, with his safeguards activated, did either of them feel free to get to the point.

"What can I do for you, Agent Charles?"

"I'm here to verify the status of Project Omaha, Director, after your little incursion last night."

The Director laughed softly. "That was no incursion. We thought it was some kind of a trace-cell mission, to be honest, but those are usually more professional. We caught them before they ever left the roof." He settled back in his chair. "I mean, seriously, who uses air ducts anymore?"

"I would," said Sarah. "But not here, Clearly they underestimated you in almost every way."

"Please," said the Director, spraying contempt into the air like a fine mist. "Most of the tools they tried to use were developed here. X-13 gas? Sonic grenades?"

"How far did they penetrate?"

He shrugged. "Far enough for us to get some good video."

"For what?"

"We don't usually get the chance to see our products in action, Agent Charles, and when we do it's some blotchy recording from a war zone somewhere. This time we got to watch real-time, on the big screen in the panic room. One of the techs lasered up some popcorn."

She laughed along with him. "So Project Omaha was never in any danger."

"I'm sure it wouldn't have been," said the Director, swiveling his chair upright, "If we had any project by that name here."

Sarah didn't even blink. "But if you did have it here, it would be fine."

"Absolutely," said the Director. "In some ways, it's too bad we have no project by that name here, because I'm sure, in our hands, it would be close to complete by now."

"I'm sure it would be, if you had it. Too bad it isn't here."

"Yes, we would have had the perfect facilities for such a project."

"May I see them?"

"Why bother?" he asked. "It's just an empty room."

"I'm sure it is, but I'd hate to feel like I'd come all this way for nothing."

He nodded. "Ah, yes, 'due diligence' and all that bureaucratic nonsense. Well, I can't let an agent of your caliber go home empty-handed, so perhaps a little tour would be in order."

The tour was very little. Most of the labs were closed off, with separate airlocks to prevent gas attacks from succeeding. Only one had windows, with a few techs gathered around outside. "What's that?" asked Sarah.

"Destruction and reclamation," said the Director. "For prototypes, or discontinued projects. But we call it the War Room. Let them 'play' a little, they deserve it." Lights flashed, with accompanying explosions, and the audience oohed and aahed appreciatively.

"Sounds like a movie in there. This place must be nerd heaven."

"Don't laugh, we get some of our best ideas from the movies," said the Director, a little miffed. What would a spy queen like her know about nerds? "Except for that laser-sword thing. Never could make that work. Ah, here we are." He stopped in front of a blank wall, and slid his card through the reader. The wall slid aside, revealing a room filled with screens, with shifting symbols moving in what appeared to be a random fashion.

"Project Omaha?" said Sarah, moving into the room, watching the screens flicker.

"Um, well, no," said the Director. "This might have been a useable room for that project's early stages, but it's surely moved beyond that by now. If it existed."

"Interesting symbols," said Sarah, uninterested in maintaining the pretense. "Do you know what they mean?" She moved to the seat at the console in the center of the room.

Naturally the Director cut her off, politely to be sure. "I can check, Agent Charles," he said, planting his butt in the seat before her. "But I think it's some sort of signal transformation process running right now, probably just random noise." He booted up the system, logged on, and showed her the algorithm, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that the symbols flashing all over the room were just meaningless clutter, little more than a high-tech screensaver. "Does this answer your question?" he asked, when he was finished.

"Yes," said Sarah and the Director slumped in his seat.

Sarah took her finger away from his neck and moved him out of the way. The Twilight drug was powerful, but the dose in her FRODO was small, so he wouldn't be out for very long. Quickly she pulled up the screen with the symbols. She took the glasses off the top of her head, hidden in plain sight even as they were checking her for weapons, and checked the symbol inside the frame against the list, and found the corresponding screen. She put the Director's chair back and went to the wall, looking for the right panel.

She pulled it down, just like the screens in the Intersect room at the lab, but this one had a box behind it, with a number of sets of sunglasses inside. She opened her jacket, swapping out the cheap sunglasses she had in her pockets for the heavy frames in the box, and closed the screen, leaving the room looking as it had before. Jacket closed, glasses atop her head as before, she moved back to her position at the Director's side and waited.

In a few seconds, the Director twitched, and lifted his head. "I think it's some sort of test signal transformation process running right now, probably just random noise."

"Oh. Okay, well, don't trouble yourself." Sarah flashed him a bright smile. "I was just curious."

Quinn met her in the lobby as she walked around the scanning station and collected her things from the secure locker. "Everything go alright?" he asked.

"Oh, yes." Sarah nodded to the receptionist as she went out the door. "Perfectly in order."

* * *

**A/N2 **Comments welcome, especially now. This story is diverging significantly, so writing it is slower and less pleasant. Hopefully you liked the changes so far.

Tomorrow's chapter of season will be a little delayed, I don't want these two stories competing with each other. I've been a little consumed these last few weeks with a synopsis for my latest novel. I've never been able to do those before, so maybe all this fanfiction stuff has helped me out on that front. I just need to put together a query letter to go with the synopsis, and maybe I can get this thing published.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N** This episode is very hard to rewrite, which should surprise no one, but it's surprising me. I lost a week revising my latest novel, and this stuff is too hard to do without total concentration. There wasn't much from this section of canon that I wanted, so I worked on other parts of the story that will be important down the road.

* * *

"_Vanished?"_

_"I don't spy on family, General."_

"_Project Omaha was never in any danger__." _

_"Perfectly in order__." _

* * *

General Beckman looked pleased, well, less _dis_pleased. Her chief analyst had told her she had a new line of investigation nearly two days ago, and made her wait ever since. A little diligence is admirable, but sometimes it was hard to be a General. "You have new information, Hannah?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the analyst, putting a picture on the screen, a grainy blow-up of a fragment of a larger picture. "This man was in the picture Agent Miller took at the club, when Sarah took out that guy Gilles and his cronies." Distaste colored her voice. Gilles deserved what he got. "I tried to run it through Facial Rec on a shielded machine and the system failed again, but this time I captured an alert."

An alert this man would have received the first time. Beckman drew the natural conclusion. "He knew he'd been discovered, but not identified."

"Correct. The alert contained the original image, so he'd know when and where he'd been at the time..."

"And he might have had some way to identify Agent Miller as the one who took it. Didn't Agent Rizzo say her car was attacked by a man with a beard?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Hannah, impressed that a General would remember a detail like that, with all she had to worry about. The details were _her_ job.

The General was oblivious. _Hmm. _A cohort, maybe some security cameras, or even just a very good memory. "Do we have any ID on him?"

"Not locally, but since we were looking for activities in Europe I spread his description around over there, and Interpol has quite a few names," said Hannah, shaking her head. "No photos, of course. Jimmy Doyle, Logan Paget, John McAdams, Sean McAllister, the list goes on. Most common alias is Nicholas Quinn."

Beckman wasn't thrilled that Interpol had something the NSA didn't. "Do _we_ have anything on any of those?"

"Yes, ma'am." A clear, full-size image appeared on the screen. "I ran the list of aliases through all the databases I can access, and found this file, for Agent Nicholas Quinn, CIA. He was a candidate for Project Omaha, but after Agent Larkin stole it, he was reassigned, and captured in the field. No further data."

No further data meant he'd erased whatever he could get his hands on. Files like that don't just disappear, especially for someone involved in Omaha, and what a pity that was. An Intersect candidate should be able to get himself out of trouble, but at what cost? Had he been turned? Broken? From the sound of it he'd become not much more than a common freelancer.

Of course, Mr. Bartowski spent five years in a Buy More, and look at him now. Properly motivated, this Quinn could become an equally dangerous threat, and Beckman doubted that Hannah would waste her time on an item of purely historical interest. "I trust this new information has some bearing on current events?"

"Yes, ma'am. Manoosh pointed out that removing Sarah from the trap was the same as leaving Agent Miller in it, along with Colonel Casey, and that's not even mentioning the ransom…"

* * *

"Sunglasses?" asked the alleged Agent Quinn. "You lied your way into a top secret weapons lab, to steal sunglasses? Why?" He flipped open the earpieces, and the lenses lit with a message: 'No Data.' "What are these?" he said, rather than shoot her. He needed her to get him the data.

Sarah took the glasses from his hand, and he kept it from clenching around them. "New courier tech, I think. When they kidnapped Agent Charles, the ransom they demanded was a pair of sunglasses we were transporting. Since they didn't get those, it seems to me quite likely that the attack on DARPA was intended to get these from the source." Sarah put the last set of frames in the box, and took a picture of it all, before closing the lid. She pressed her thumb against the panel and it made a click. "Now we have them and they don't. That gives us leverage." She wiped her thumbprint off the panel.

He made a note to get some bolt-cutters, just in case. "Only if you can find them."

"They sent me a photo of Agent Charles," said Sarah, calling it up, and she hit reply. "I'll send the image I just took back by the same route."

"You think they're gonna watch that mailbox?" asked Quinn. He wouldn't.

"They might." She would.

"So what do plan to do in the meantime?" Because Agent Walker wouldn't just sit around. She'd have a plan.

"I'm going to DC," said Sarah. She picked up the box and went to the door of her car. "I know a guy."

Quinn leaned on the hood. "'You know a guy'?"

"Well, a girl, actually," said Sarah opening the door. "She knows the guy."

"I'm coming along," said Quinn, moving to the passenger side. "I can't let you just hand over top secret military tech to a friend of a friend."

"I wasn't planning to," said Sarah, getting in the car and closing her door. "But this guy's great with tech. I want to see if he can find out what these are for, maybe plant a few surprises in them, just in case things go south and the bastards who took Agent Charles actually get their hands on them."

Quinn wanted to meet this friend's friend, too. He needed to rebuild his team and could always use another 'guy'. He put on his seat belt. "They'd be fools if they didn't check."

_They took Chuck. _She let the engine do her roaring for her. "They're already fools."

* * *

Vivian checked her watch. "Time, Mr. Decker." She sat back to enjoy the show.

Clyde smiled with more than his usual malice as he made the phone call. "This is Special Agent Clyde Decker, CIA. Put me through to your Director." He always hated his first name, it made him angry just to hear it, which is why he said it so often. "Director, I have it on good authority that the target of your attempted breach last night was Project Omaha. I need you to lock down those facilities at once. What? Check it out, Director, top to bottom. If Agent Walker's gone rogue and compromised the project, who knows what havoc she could wreak. Call me at this number when you're finished." He rang off. "What do you think, too thick?"

Vivian's smile matched his for malice. "Next time we'll make sure you have a shovel." The better to bury Sarah Walker with.

* * *

Hannah felt her phone buzz in her pocket, the special buzz that indicated a text message, and she pulled it out to check. Not too many people would have this number and all of them were people she wanted to get back to ASAP.

_Miss H, need to meet. The Museum, tonight, 8 PM. Mrs. Anderson._

Okay, not what she expected. All the people she knew, knew she wasn't an agent. She didn't know anyone named Anderson, but she did know how many museums there were in the DC area. So who was expecting to meet who, where? She pushed a button on her monitor. "General Beckman."

* * *

At Denver International Airport, just before boarding…

Quinn looked at the message on his screen, not understanding any of it, which was the clear intent. Damn bitch kept her messages in code even over a secure phone! It took less than a minute to make it unsecure but what a nightmare getting that fraction was. _Mrs. Anderson._ He understood that, but nothing else. There was a new power couple in the CIA, back before he'd been broken. They were expected to take over from the CIA's old power couple, but he hadn't heard anything about either one for a couple of years now, and now he knew why. Mrs. Anderson had become Mrs. Carmichael, and then she was with Volkoff, and then she was with Charles. And now she was with him. She just didn't know it yet.

He pulled out his phone and called a contact. "We got nothing," he said, reading the short text. "You got any idea how many museums there are in DC? We'll just have to wait until she commits. Don't worry, she trusts me. I'll have ears on her the whole time."

* * *

Chuck sat in his chair on the airplane ride home from Japan, laptop atop lap, fingers occasionally rattling away with machine-gun speeds as he caught up on his overdue responsibilities as the Intersect.

Casey and Carina were at the far end of the plane, getting drinks. "Look at him," muttered Casey.

Carina nodded. "He's a wreck. He's not even boozing it up like usual!"

"_My_ son?" asked Mary.

Busted. Carina turned to Casey. "Do me a favor, throw your drink in my face."

Talk about an offer he couldn't refuse.

"Oh my," said Carina with exaggerated shock, wiping Scotch out of her eyes. "I'd better go clean up." She moved around to the Colonel's far side and escaped to the bathroom.

"What was that all about?" asked Mary.

"Who cares, it was fun," said Casey, going to get himself another drink. "When Chuck's in hacker mode he's pretty hard on the Chardonnay, but you'd never know it. That's all Miller meant."

"You could have just said that, rather than waste good Scotch."

For some purposes, Scotch is best applied on the outside. "Your point being…?"

Mary shook her head, and dropped the subject. They watched her son, apparently oblivious to them, to everything. "He's so different from his father," said Mary. "Stephen hacks like he breathes, no need for artificial enhancements." The hard part's getting him to stop.

"So I guess the spy abilities weren't the only thing Chuck got from your side of the family," said Casey. Interesting place to find a conscience. Her phone went off, and she went to answer it. He watched Chuck work, a bit envious. If it had been Gertrude, off on her own, no backup, every gun he had would be cleaned three times by now, but nothing more useful than that. "I can't wait to get these two back together, so we can finish our mission."

Mary hung up. "That won't happen today, Colonel. Stephen says her signal is in DC now."

"Great." Casey got out his phone to tell the General, but Carina came back before he could make a call, dressed in a professional outfit. "Look at you, dressed like a grown-up."

"Stow it Casey," said Carina. "I just got a call from General Beckman, for this leg of the mission I'm taking point."'

Casey grunted in pain, and both women gave him a look. "Nope," he said. "Not gonna say it."

"Thank you," said Carina.

"We don't need to go to Denver anymore," said Mary. "Sarah's moved on."

"Yes, but she's left a doozy of a mess for us to clean up. She just robbed DARPA."

* * *

"Mr. Depak."

Manoosh looked up at his left monitor. "Yes, General?"

"We have a situation, Mr. Depak, involving the glasses we use to house the Intersect."

"What kind of situation?" Manoosh began to sweat. He was alone in the lab, blessedly free of any and all 'situations'. Getting chased halfway around the world by the Ring, almost killed at WeapCon, and then 'rescued' by Colonel Casey left him with an aversion to…those things.

In spite of herself, General Beckman sounded both amused and impressed. "Somehow, Sarah connived her way past the Director of Research at a DARPA facility, and stole all the available sets of Intersect glasses they had from under his nose."

"What do you mean, 'all'?" asked Manoosh. "Our glasses are custom jobs, but we can reuse them. Only the chips burn out. The glasses are all inventoried, and none are unaccounted for." Which meant these weren't their glasses, which meant...

"Believe me, Mr. Depak, a rogue Intersect operation has the highest priority, which is why you will be briefing the FBI, as our subject matter expert."

"Me?"

"Even Ellie defers to your expertise when it comes to the glasses, and in any event she is on maternity leave."

"But…the FBI?"

"Agent Miller is currently AoS, but this isn't a matter for the DEA. There is an FBI agent who has been read in. Agent McHugh will be taking the lead in the investigation once she arrives."

* * *

"That was pleasant." Carina and her team walked out of the Federal office building in Denver, with a few answers, many more questions, and one, and only one, pair of cheap sunglasses, from the box that the Director had allowed them to see _in situ_. Carina had to seal it in an evidence bag and let him cosign it, before he would let her take it with her. As partners to the thief, they were not be trusted, but as Casey pointed out, given the classified nature of the project, no one allowed to be involved in the investigation would be neutral. "This guy Decker is really out for your blood."

Chuck had flashed on the name the instant the Director said it, and knew far more than he cared to about the man who'd made a specialty of cleaning up other people's messes. "First Ellie, and now Sarah? Believe me, I'm out for his as well."

They climbed into the rented car and drove back the airport for the trip to DC.

* * *

"Yes, Director, what do you have for me?" asked Agent Decker. "They were, huh? I told you they would be, that's their pattern. She comes in after the burglars, they come in after her, and by the time the real authorities show up, the chain of evidence is too muddy to use. It's classic." He smiled, and Vivian smiled back. "You have someone watching the room, I hope, someone you can trust? Oh, you're in there right now? That's good, Director. In fact that's excellent."

Decker pushed a button on his detonator.

* * *

The Museum, 8 PM…

Sarah sat outside the museum with Quinn, watching the crowd. A lot of people going in and out.

"You think she'll show, this friend of yours?" asked Quinn.

"She's never let me down before," said Sarah. A bus pulled up in front of the building, on time for once, releasing a swarm of passengers onto the steps. "I see her." She got out of the car, doing a mike check with Quinn, so he'd be able to hear every word. She walked slowly, so that everybody would have a good chance to spread out inside the building.

* * *

Hannah walked through the front doors of Dumbarton Oaks, feeling vaguely foolish. They said she'd have backup, but none of the people on the bus seemed to notice her, which was probably what they were supposed to do. She had on her own clothes, thank God, but they made her wear a wispy scarf fluffed up to her chin. They'd said it was because the mouth and jaw were much better for identifying a person than the eyes, but then they gave her tinted lenses at night, for God's sake. And these shoes! How was she supposed to make contact when they'd made her look so different?

"Hello, Miss H."

Hannah barely glanced to her left. A tall brown-eyed woman stood a few feet away, apparently fascinated by a jewelry case, but she recognized Sarah's chin and jaw. No one was near them, being carefully steered away by her backup team. She kept her voice low anyway. "Mrs. Anderson."

"Please, since my beloved husband Daniel passed away, I've gone back to using my maiden name."

Her 'beloved husband' being Daniel Anderson, as played by Daniel Shaw, who was also known as Charles Carmichael to most of the CIA. "I understand, Miss Walker."

"Thank you. I need you to set up a meeting for me with Mister D, as soon as it can be arranged."

"Mister D," said Hannah in an undertone, just loud enough to be heard by the people listening in on her microphone, hidden under the scarf.

"Remind her that this Mister D is a famous recluse, and will demand extra security if she wants to meet in person," said General Beckman, a generic response until they could figure out who Mister D was supposed to be. "That will tell us how important this information is."

* * *

"Mr. Delgado says he knows of no one by that name, Mr. Quinn, but he'll 'turn over a few rocks' on our behalf," said Vivian.

Quinn clicked twice, and went back to listening.

* * *

Hannah cleared her throat twice to acknowledge the instructions. "Mister D doesn't take well to strangers," she said to 'Miss Walker'. "You can talk to me."

"No," said Sarah. "I can't."

Hannah sighed, listening to her handler's instructions. "If you insist. I'll make the arrangements. You will be prepared to come when I call, alone. If you cause any trouble in any way, you will see nothing and no one, is that understood?"

"Perfectly."

"Well done, Hannah, now turn around," said General Beckman. "Walk away, right now."

Hannah started to turn, and stopped. "Why do you not go to your employer?"

Sarah considered her reply. The fact that she _was_ going to her employer obviously couldn't be mentioned, so it was a valid point. Tommy Delgado was former Fulcrum, a rogue cell inside the CIA, so she could legitimately claim the CIA was unreliable, but 'her employer' was always unreliable in that way.

Her employer. Her mission. The greater good. Not this time.

This time was hers. _Mine. _Sarah flashed a dark glance at her friend, who foolishly had not walked away when she'd been told to, and Hannah took a step back. "It's personal."

* * *

"Okay," muttered Hannah as she walked out of the museum, only because she couldn't run in those shoes. "I am now officially creeped out."

"You should be pitying her enemies," said Beckman.

If there was one thing Hannah wasn't going to waste her pity on, it was whoever earned the wrath of Sarah Bartowski. "What do I do now?"

"There should be a cab pulling up right now. A tall man with white hair will get out and offer to hold it for you. Thank him for being a gentleman, and get in."

_Thank you for being a gentleman._ "Is that the countersign?"

"No, just courtesy."

Just then a taxi pulled up, and a tall white-haired man got out, dressed appropriately for the venue. He smiled when he saw her, hinting at a lifetime of experience coupled with the enthusiasm of youth. "If I may have the honor?" he asked in a warm baritone, handing her into the back of the cab.

His voice. His touch. His scent. "Such a gentleman." Even the closing of the door was smooth and melodious the way he did it. She stared out the window, watching him elegantly mount the steps, and breathed, "Wow."

"He's taken," growled Beckman.

* * *

**A/N2 **All the aliases were roles that Angus McFayden has played.

Comments welcome.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N** Trying to turn Chuck vs Sarah into a romantic comedy is a lot harder than it looks. I have no idea what to do about the Goodbye. I just rewatched it for the first time since it aired. I may have to write a totally new episode, when the whole point of this is to color between the lines of the original.

* * *

"_Sunglasses?"_

_"They're already fools."_

"_Sarah's moved on__." _

_"It's personal__." _

* * *

Sarah Bartowski lay on the bed, not sleeping, one arm over her eyes, shielding them as the light from the other room aggravated her slight headache. "_This is my special place." She sat next to him, toes in the sand, boots by her side. The beach was wide and exposed. And bright. The California sun shone, and she was warm. _Too warm, maybe? Was that a pregnancy thing, or was she getting sick? Rotten timing, if she was.

Her other hand traced little circles on her belly. She couldn't feel much, perhaps a little firmer if she pressed in just the right spot. She imagined that those were Chuck's fingers, probing at her, perhaps freaking out and wondering if he was pushing too hard, because he was Chuck and would always worry about hurting her, hurting anyone. She would tell him no, he wasn't pushing too hard, and to remember she was a spy who did a lot of exercise and she was trying really hard to relax her stomach muscles so he could feel anything at all.

She spread her hands, splayed her fingers out like he would, if not quite as widely, as he marveled at how she was already protecting their daughter, or at least their daughter-for-now. _"R__ight now it's a 'her'. Did you know that? All babies start out as girls and some morph into boys as they develop?"_ And she'd say yes, she remembered that he'd said that before, and then they'd wonder how Ellie was doing with Clara. They'd wonder if their baby would be as beautiful as Clara and Chuck would say she'd be beautifuller and then wonder if that was a word, and she'd call him a nerd.

Sarah sighed, tracing circles on her belly. Her nerd.

* * *

"What do you think she's doing right now?" asked Chuck, as they flew back to DC.

"If it isn't 'running', it's the wrong thing," said Casey. "She stole property of the US government, from a top-secret facility, and you know Decker is going to paint that as black as he can."

"She stole it to protect Chuck," said Mary.

"That'll mean an awful lot to a Congressional committee," said Casey.

"And she was protecting the glasses," added Carina. "We know they wanted them, and it's pretty obvious the security had holes." Attempted theft was a crime, successful theft was an example. "With that picture, we can even claim duress."

The Devil's Advocate grunted a reluctant agreement. "Well, if that's our story, we'd better get busy selling it to the General so she can sell it to the Powers That Be."

One sale to the General later…

"That's a good cover story, Team, but it doesn't quite jibe with the current situation," said Beckman. "I just returned from a field exercise with Hannah."

"You were in the field?" asked Chuck. "How long since that's happened?"

His commanding officer pinned him with a glare. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing, General," said Chuck quickly. "I'm just saying it must have been a pleasant change after all your time in the office."

"It was refreshing," said Beckman. "Sarah set up the meet, but she didn't come in. Instead, she wants us to set up a meet with a 'Mister D', probably about these glasses. She was very cryptic, hopefully when we get the meeting set up she can brief us properly. I don't suppose 'Mister D' is an alias any of you is aware of."

Glances were exchanged, but that buck stopped nowhere. Beckman sighed. "Give it some thought, please. I can't imagine she meant _nothing_ by it. We'll keep on with our more generic arrangements anyway. Dismissed."

* * *

Manoosh kicked open the door to his lair, his haven, and threw his coat against the wall.

The evening had been less than a total success. Agent McHugh had been read in on the project but didn't know where the lab was or how to get there, and she'd arranged to meet him at a secure location elsewhere, a restaurant.

That had sounded like a date. Was it a date? Or was it just…eating? Eating with possible date-hood?

Should he ask Hannah?

No. Don't ask Hannah.

He really could have used Chuck's input on this, but since this whole thing had started with Chuck's kidnapping, that wasn't in the cards. Maybe _Ellie_ would know how he should dress for a quasi-date? She'd practically raised Chuck, she could give him the same advice. If he asked.

He'd asked. Well, sort of asked. He'd gotten as far as 'girl' and 'restaurant', and she was off and running. No wonder Chuck scored a Goddess, with her as his wingman. It wasn't like Manoosh had a lot of dating clothes, but eventually he looked as good as he could, all things considered, and Ellie wished him luck.

The eating part of the evening went well. No nacho sampler on the menu but he could live with that. Agent McHugh was young for this assignment, and beautiful, and young, and single, and young…and really smart. She understood his briefing perfectly. He didn't have to explain anything several times. He could even mention a movie, or a game, or some other bit of nerd lore and she would get it. She understood him, she grokked his essence. She was wonderful, she was…

Perfect.

The eating and the talking was over far too soon, not that he cared what time it was, anytime would have been too soon. She had to go, she was on a case. How could he get to see her after the case? Maybe he could…ask for her number? That would be okay, wouldn't it, not like the asset-hell Chuck went through? He turned around to say something that hopefully didn't sound too incoherent and the night came crashing down in ruins.

She was kissing someone. Just a peck on the cheek, but she was giving it to a short, bearded troll. A short, bearded, suit-wearing troll. The troglodyte from Vail, with the dreadlock hat and all the selfies. Agent McHugh was the ski bunny in the pictures, her face no longer red from cold, or scrunched up from squinting in the bright sun. The _girlfriend_. He heard her speak the troll's name, getting more physically ill with each drawn out syllable. He couldn't get back to the lab fast enough.

He needed code. Code was beautiful. Code was safe, code didn't have nasty stupid boyfriends that didn't appreciate it properly, the way he would. Did. Maybe he could build a virus, that would propagate through all the cell phones of the world and eat selfies, that'd show him.

A light blinked on his phone, General Beckman reminding him to update her when he got back. Fine, the virus could wait. He sat at his desk and pushed the button. "General Beckman."

Surprisingly, her screen lit immediately. "Good evening, Mr. De–Mr. Depak. What can I do for you?"

She forgot her own message? "You asked me to report when I got in, General. After the briefing?"

The General got a thoughtful look, and Manoosh was reminded of Ellie's concerns about officers looking thoughtful. "I trust it went well. You seem…vexed."

"As well as it could have gone, I guess."

"Good," said Beckman, clearly aware that it wasn't at all good. "But you'll have to write your report on it later. Right now, I have a new mission for you, Mr. Depak, a very high-priority mission."

A mission would be better than a virus. Lots of innocent selfies out there. The _boyfriend_ didn't go on missions, did he? "When and where, General?"

She nodded approvingly. "Right now. I'll have your driver turn around. Be ready, Mr. Depak."

He tried to sound ready. "I will, General."

The screen went black, and Manoosh leapt to his feet, clapping his hands together. _This is gonna be great!_ He turned, automatically reaching for his chair but it wasn't there. It had rolled across the floor and hit a cabinet, and a set of Intersect glasses had fallen to the floor. Again.

He picked them up and tossed them onto his desk, running back to his room for his coat. He had to get ready. Had to _be_ ready.

* * *

"Did you see this?" asked Nicholas Quinn, as Sarah came into the room. He gestured at the TV, and some program masquerading as news. "The Japanese are going apesh–uh, nuts over a terrorist attack by some Chinese Mafia guys. Tried to blow up a train."

The screen showed the side of a mountain, as seen by a helicopter, with scattered wreckage slashing diagonally across the entire slope, some of it still burning, and the remains of a car at the bottom. From the look of things, one car, presumably the last one, had cartwheeled off the tracks at high speed.

"They didn't do a very good job of it," said Sarah calmly.

"We had a commando team on the train, they said. Chased the bad guys into the baggage car. Nobody got hurt except the bad guys." He chuckled. "The Japs are pissed, though."

"Why?" asked Sarah, not that she needed the explanation.

"A foreign military team on Japanese soil, foiling a plot they didn't even know about? You can bet they're pissed, no matter how much they bow and smile. The official line is that it was a joint op, but they're already playing up some clerk, all he did was stick his hand up and keep one of the commandos from falling over."

"But he's Japanese, that's all that counts."

"Local boy makes good," agreed Quinn sourly. "They're really pushing the 'falling over' part, too, make our guys look like a bunch of klutzes." Sarah's phone chimed, giving him an excuse to turn the TV off before he had to see the guy's face again. "That her?"

Sarah took one look at the screen and went to get her coat, contact lenses already in place. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He watched unhappily as she picked up the box. "You sure you don't want backup?" he asked, like a good little partner.

"He's a geek, Quinn," said Sarah. "I'll have eyes on him the whole time, the box will never leave my sight."

"Even geeks can have guns," said Quinn. "Or bodyguards."

"He won't risk it. He gets bored easily." She held up the box. New tech is new tech. "Honestly, I'm more worried about Miss H, and she's a sweetheart."

* * *

Hannah stuck a hand carrying a hood in front of Sarah's face the second she sat in the car. "Sit down, shut up, and put this on," she said, sounding no-nonsense and slightly annoyed. She had a lot of practice with that one back at Castle.

Sarah took the hood and put it on, while Hannah pulled into traffic. "And here I told my partner you were a sweetheart."

"Sweethearts don't make good gatekeepers," said Hannah. She drove for a while, following a mostly random route toward the place where Beckman waited. "Where's this partner now? Who is he?"

"How is that any of your business?" said Sarah, playing her part.

Hannah checked her mirrors, but all she saw were lights. "As long as he's not following us."

* * *

"–_not following us."_

Quinn curled his lip at her idiotic statement. Who needed to follow anyone anymore, when they had so many nice tags and tracers that you could track them from three blocks away?

* * *

"Why would that matter?" asked Sarah.

"Because Mister D can _block_ bugs," said Hannah.

Sarah looked through the panel in the front of the hood, seeing her friend reach out to press a button on the dashboard of the car.

* * *

The screen on Quinn's tracker started flashing red, as the signal it had been told to follow suddenly vanished. "Goddammit!" She had a signal suppressor _for a car?_ In traffic? Granted, it was pretty light traffic at this hour, but still…He raised his radio, faster than a phone for this purpose. "I lost them! I lost them!" he shouted. "Take 'em down now!" Before they could get away with his destiny.

* * *

"Aahh!" screamed Sarah, clutching at her head.

Hannah swerved violently as she looked at her shrieking passenger. "Sarah?"

"Stop it!" Hands tore at the bag, tore at blonde hair. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Hannah reached out and killed the suppressor.

* * *

Quinn's tracker beeped, happy again.

For a second he just stared at it. _Why–?_ They played him! They played him and he fell for it. He raised his radio a second time. Had to get things under control before it was too late. "Fall back, I say again, fall back! Their suppression is off, I have them again."

* * *

"We've got company," said Sarah, spotting the following cars even as they tried to blend in with the scenery.

"What do we do?" said Hannah, panicking. She looked in her mirrors, but couldn't see anything in all the headlights.

"Turn here," said Sarah, looking at the GPS. "I'll plot an evasion course. You call Mister D, tell him to bug out." Or send reinforcements, more likely.

* * *

Quinn heard everything. "Goddammit," he snarled, lifting his radio. "You've been made." The meeting wasn't going to happen now, even if Walker should manage to lose her pursuit. With no place to follow them to, the trackers were useless. Almost. "Chase 'em toward me, I'll move to intercept."

* * *

Even Hannah could see it when multiple vehicles suddenly swerved out of lane and accelerated toward them. She turned and turned again, her instinctive move to get out of their line of sight. She reached out and pressed the emergency alert just as she saw the first car turn the corner after her. She floored it.

Sarah looked up at the sudden burst of speed, just in time to see another car pull into the other end of the street. "Hannah, slow down! We have to turn!" Hannah looked ahead and saw the roadblock. Sarah pointed to a side street, and with no time to spare Hannah turned the wheel and prayed.

If it hadn't been for the car parked illegally, she would have made it.

* * *

Manoosh sat in the back of the van, trying to get into character. What would a person named Mister D sound like? He cleared his throat, but his voice didn't cooperate and suddenly drop an octave.

Something started beeping in the front of the car, and outside everyone started moving, swarming into vehicles. Beckman personally told the driver of Manoosh's car to take him back to the lab, as she headed for her own car. Manoosh rolled down his window. "General, what's happening?"

She took pity on him. "We're aborting the operation. Their emergency beacon went off and we have to extract." She said nothing more as her car sped away.

The emergency alert. Hannah's alert, in Hannah's car. She was in danger, her and Agent Bartowski, and the General was sending him away while they all raced to the rescue. He was racing back to the lab, useless. He stared out the window, watching the buildings move past, but what could he do?

He stared at himself in the glass, the ghostly voice of power whispering in his ear. _You _know_ what you can do._

* * *

She raised her head slowly.

"Are you all right, Hannah?" asked General Beckman.

That's right, her name was Hannah._ Ow._ "Fine, General. What are you doing here so soon?"

Beckman's face was grim. "We're not soon, Hannah, we're far too late." She held out her hand, with something small and dart-like in it. "You were tranqed, probably so you wouldn't interfere as they took Sarah away."

Hannah turned her head–_ow!_–and looked where her friend had been. The door stood open, the seatbelt slit. "Her box is missing, too."

* * *

Sarah woke up, tied to a chair. Alone in an empty room, she pulled at the ropes carefully, but she wouldn't be able to get out of this quickly and she doubted they'd leave her alone that long, whoever 'they' were.

A door opened behind her, and since she hadn't sensed anyone behind her before, she assumed someone was coming into the room and turned to see who it was. The man standing behind her gave her a grin as her eyes widened. "Remember me? The man you left behind?"

"Agent Quinn?"

"Not really," he said, his attitude utterly casual as he closed the door quietly, the ice in his drink clinking quietly as he moved. "I am an agent, I was, but not for the FBI. I'm former CIA just like you."

Sarah's head turned to follow as he walked into the room. "I'm current CIA, thank you very much."

Quinn laughed at that, picking up the box with her glasses. "Well, maybe, but not for much longer. You did steal these from the DoD, after all."

"I'd say 'borrowed' is the more appropriate word, Mr. Quinn," said Sarah. "I needed the right kind of bait for my trap."

"That's all I was, some kind of mark?" asked Quinn, stung right in his professional pride. She was playing him? He was supposed to be playing her!

"I lied," said Sarah. _I do that._ "I'm sorry that I did my job too well," she said, her tone oozing sympathetic condescension.

He glared at her, flushed and angry. "Too well? You call this a trap?" he asked, gesturing at her captive arms. "Great work, you've got us right where we want you."

Sarah pounced, laughing. "One man is hardly a 'we', Mr. Quinn."

"I'm hardly one man, Agent Walker."

"I suppose not," said Sarah. "The kind of gross incompetence I've seen so far takes a committee. All this just to get me alone?"

"Don't flatter yourself," snapped Quinn. "You were a means to an end, Walker, nothing more." He patted the box. "Now I'll be the means to your end. You should be thanking me. The CIA would have used you up and thrown you away too, but my way will be faster and neater." He put a hand in his pocket, coincidentally pushing his jacket back to display his pistol as he took a sip of his drink.

"If whoever's holding your leash lets you, that is."

"I have no leash."

"And yet I'm not dead," said Sarah. "You could have tried to open the box at the crash site, but instead I wake up in a hotel room with a man who thinks boring me to death is the kinder option." He wanted something from her, and Quinn had never struck her as being a particularly patient man.

Quinn pulled his gun, aiming at her face. "Perhaps I should use this to 'bore you to death' right now."

"Quinn," said a third voice, suddenly.

Sarah stared down the large barrel of a large gun, her heart racing, her breathing shallow and rapid. Quinn enjoyed the view. "Not so calm, cool, and collected now, are you?"

"No, she isn't, Mr. Quinn," said the voice from behind Sarah, calm and disdainful. "But it has nothing to do with you. Agent Walker has simply realized the true magnitude of her error." Vivian Volkoff walked around her prisoner, setting the Norseman down on top of the locked box. "Haven't you, Sarah?"

* * *

**A/N2 Comments welcome.**


	17. Plans & Schemes

**A/N** Did anyone else notice that when Sarah walked up onto the beach in canon, she wasn't wearing those ridiculous boots anymore? Hard to walk on sand in those.

* * *

"_You were in the field?"_

_"Be ready, Mr. Depak."_

"_Mister D can _block_ bugs.__" _

"_Haven't you, Miss Walker?"_

* * *

Miles above the Earth's surface…

She crept out of the plane's storage compartment, uncommonly silent. Her two targets were only a few meters away, chatting quietly, but she couldn't hear anything over the noise of the plane. Unfortunately only enough of their faces showed to indicate that they were speaking, not enough to be a decent target. She'd have to get closer, find a better angle.

The seats in the back were good cover, but that cut both ways. She'd have to get to where the hatchway made an open space, dangerously close in such a confined space, with much higher odds of being spotted before she was ready. She'd have a wider angle of fire, but they'd have a clear shot at her as well.

Suddenly Target One dove across the aisle at Target Two, grabbing a pistol from inside his jacket. She stood up and got off a few shots, but the plane chose that moment to pitch to the right and throw her off balance. She dropped the gun rather than chance a stray shot piercing the plane, and scrambled to get back under cover. "Dammit! You cheated."

"Did not," said Target Two.

"I've still got a gun," said Target One. "You going to go for that?" _That_ being her own pistol, lying in the aisle.

"No."

"So, what are you going to do, throw your stiletto-heeled boots at me? They're not on your list but we all know you."

A stealth mission in stiletto-heeled boots? How stupid did he–well, come to think of it, she probably _would_ try something like that. She smiled. "I've got a flash-bang."

"And I've got a hand to cover my eyes with, so you'll have to do better than that."

"I can use the grenade to pop the door." No need to go on about the explosive decompression that would follow, or what it would do to them all. Especially her, since was closest to the door and relatively exposed.

"Does she have a parachute?" muttered Target One, a/k/a Chuck.

Target Two, i.e., Casey, checked her list. "Yep."

"Crap," said Chuck, lowering his gun. "Okay, that gets you off the plane, Carina, but I don't see that outcome as being anything but a stalemate."

"I doubt you have parachutes on your lists," she countered, not standing up. She didn't think Chuck would fall for the monologuing ploy but it was worth a shot. "Death by parachuting without a parachute sounds like a win to me." She looked under the seats, maybe she could crawl forward under them to get her gun, but no. Less room than a bullet train's air duct.

"She's got a point," said Casey.

"Too many variables," said Mary, watching them play their game, with occasional forays into refereeing their disputes. "You could hit your head on the way out, and fail to open your chute. Casey's still buckled in, and could keep Chuck from getting sucked out."

Carina blew a wisp of hair from her face. "Fine, stalemate." She stood up. "But I would have won if you hadn't played games with the attitude." She went to pick up her gun.

"_You're_ complaining about attitude?" said Casey, unbuckling.

She holstered her empty pistol as she walked up to them. "I am when it isn't mine."

"Then maybe you should spend less time with the boy-toy and more time with your manuals," said Casey. He flipped open a panel in the arm of the chair. "Remote GNC, in case the bad guys get control of the plane."

"What'll those guys in R&amp;D think of next?" Carina grumbled, resolving to spend more time with her manuals and less with her boy-toy.

"Just watch a lot of movies," said Chuck. "That's where they get all their ideas from, don't you know that?"

"I'll believe that when they issue me a lightsabre."

"Oh ye of little faith and good reflexes," said Chuck. He looked over her shoulder. "Where were you hiding, anyway? I would have thought Casey and I did a pretty thorough search back there."

"Not telling," said Carina, as the sign came on, telling them all to prepare for landing. "A girl has to have some secrets." She'd once gotten Sarah clear across the country in a carry-on bag. The secret in this case wasn't the bag so much as what she'd had to do to Sarah to get her into the bag. Blondie hadn't exactly volunteered.

Chuck practically threw himself into his seat. "About time. It's only been a few days but I feel like I haven't seen Sarah for a couple of weeks now."

"Believe me…" said Casey, fastening his seatbelt again.

"_We_ know," finished Carina.

Once the plane was on the ground they all violated the rules and got out of their seats, doing their best to clean the cabin up before the crew could see it. Not so much the glasses and the napkins as the paintball residue from where they'd shot at each other and missed. Not a single bit was on any exterior wall, of course. Knocking the plane out of the sky would be an automatic loss for whoever did it. Talk about embarrassing.

The door opened even before the plane finished moving, and armed men boarded. "No one move," said their commander. "Military police." As if the big MP armbands hadn't already given them away.

Chuck dropped his spotted towel on the table. "What's up, guys?"

"Agent Charles, you are under arrest," said the officer, consulting a list. "Agent Miller, Colonel Casey, you two as well."

"On what charge?" asked Chuck, as armed men moved to separate the team and take their weapons.

"For complicity in the destruction of a Federal facility in Denver, and the death of the Director."

* * *

Somewhere else in DC…

"Now then," said Vivian brightly, settling against the desk. A very interesting posture, looking down upon her adversary like this. She could see why Mr. Decker liked it. "What shall we talk about?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Sarah, rather automatically.

"Oh," said Vivian, looking from her to Quinn and back. "Am I interrupting? I'm very sorry if I am, but to be honest, I thought you might be in need of a bit of a rescue." She waved a hand negligently. "I've been cornered by more than a few boring old fuddy-duddies at society parties, my, how they drone. All Mr. Quinn seems to want to talk about, for example, is torture. He seems to be quite an expert on the subject, a product, I understand, of his time in captivity." Vivian smiled.

Quinn shifted slightly, frowning. He'd never signed on to do any torturing, but until he got his glasses and his destiny, he'd do whatever he had to do. He'd settle accounts with Vivian later.

"You don't need to do that," said Sarah.

"I know, dear," said Vivian. "But my father was quite taken with it, and what it revealed about a person. You remember my father, don't you, Agent Walker? The man who aided you in rescuing your husband? The man you repaid by so cruelly wiping him from existence?"

"It wasn't cruel to Hartley."

"It was cruel to me," said Vivian softly. Very softly. Sarah knew that tone of voice well. Vivian's hand settled lightly on the Norseman, familiar with the grip. "But," she said, sweeping the weapon up and laying it in her lap, "All is not lost, as Mr. Decker reminded me. With these glasses, all the wrongs you've done me can be righted."

"Mr. Decker talks too much," said Sarah, her gaze on the weapon, rather than the wielder.

"True," said Vivian, stroking her prized possession like a pet. "But useful. So many things about my father that I should have known but didn't. I suppose I should thank you. That was your team on the Contessa that night, I assume, pirating my father's life's work. Incidentally preserving his life's work, although I doubt that was your goal…"

Sarah shrugged as best she could, attempting to appear casual but Vivian could see the whiteness of her knuckles where Sarah gripped the chair. "Hartley didn't know enough, and since the Hydra technically belongs to him–"

"It belongs to Volkoff!" said Vivian. "It belongs to me. And once it is properly compressed and loaded into these glasses, it will belong to my father again."

When Chuck had uploaded the Hydra for a short time, he'd become very much like Volkoff in personality. If Hartley were to get such an upload…"You can't be serious."

"Hmmm, I've never been more _deadly_ serious about anything in my life, wouldn't you say, Mr. Quinn?" Vivian switched hands, so she could touch the box with the glasses as well. "And of course Mr. Quinn has his own use for these glasses. So you'll have a double helping of gratitude coming your way, once you open this box for us."

* * *

"There's nothing I can do about it now, Mary," said General Beckman, sounding a bit busy. "My morning meeting with the President just got rescheduled to tonight, and I haven't had a chance to debrief Agent Bartowski yet." Meaning Sarah. Chuck didn't mind being called Agent Charles nearly as much as Sarah hated being called Walker.

"Why not?" asked Mary, rethinking her plan to go to the General's office if the General wasn't going to be in it. She wasn't on the MP's list of people to arrest, so they didn't. "Weren't you supposed to be meeting with her?"

"The plan fell through," said Beckman. "Hannah said the suppressor she had in her car caused Sarah a lot of pain when she turned it on, but turning it off again left them vulnerable. Their car was intercepted and both Sarah and her package were removed from the scene."

Typical, thought Mary. The best laid plans gang aft to crap. _Pain?_ "Any clues to who did it?"

Beckman lifted a small bag from her briefcase, with a tiny pointy object inside. "Just a tranq dart, used to knock out Hannah." She put it back again.

"Hm. Clever."

"Frustratingly so," said Beckman. "The crash brought Metro police into the mix, and the dart makes it look like one of our operations gone awry. You know how they love those."

Mary knew. Moscow police were pretty much the same. She considered the pattern. Sarah's theft of the glasses was flawless. They couldn't have known about it unless someone told them it had happened, which apparently someone did, almost immediately. Just like someone blew up the lab right after they left. And now this. "You're getting the Death by Inches treatment." A collection of small guerrilla attacks, from a variety of directions, none of which did much harm but the totality of which were fatal. Also known as the Death of a Thousand Cuts, or the Rat Pack. "There's only one response to that." Well, two, but you had to have a pack of rats all your own for the second one.

Beckman knew the theory. She also knew that in practice, Mary had much less to lose. Beckman liked being a General, but every soldier was expected to sacrifice for their country. "Kind of drastic, don't you think?" Why was it harder to contemplate losing her career than losing her life? Because she'd be around to see it?

"That's the way it's supposed to feel, but it doesn't have to be that way," said Mary, her years of manipulative duplicity coming back to her. "From the right angle, or in the right place, a small act can have drastic effect."

If cowardice was unacceptable in her subordinates, it was even less so in herself. "I'm going to the White House." If push came to shove, she could always get another career.

Mary smiled. "That should do it." As long as they could keep the politics out. The political version of the Rat Pack, known as the Echo Chamber, would only make a bad situation worse.

Her strategy decided, General Beckman slipped in a more tactical mode. "We still need an immediate response, though, something that will help the Team, help Sarah."

Mary already had a few ideas. "No worries. We'll see how their rats do against a school of Piranha."

School? "You've only got one." And he was on his way to a detention facility.

"Yes, but they don't know that."

* * *

Back in the high-class but otherwise anonymous hotel room…

"I don't think so," said Sarah.

"No one was asking for your assistance, Agent Walker," said Vivian. "Much less your cooperation. In fact we barely even need you to lift a finger." Vivian chuckled at her own wit.

"Clever," said Sarah. "You think of that yourself, or is there a torturer's joke book?"

"Enough delay," said Vivian. "Mr. Quinn."

Quinn stepped forward and picked up the box, carrying it over to where Sarah sat. "You don't have to lift a finger to help us, really," he said. "I can just break your thumb and press it against the lock on my own."

Futile resistance was not a class they taught at the Farm, and both Sarah and Quinn knew that. Getting herself injured now would only compromise her ability to fight back when the opportunity presented itself. She lifted up her thumb without a word, and he pressed the box against it.

* * *

Meanwhile, a bit of friendship therapy…

"I just felt so useless, you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know where you're coming from. Totally outclassed."

"Yes, that too."

"Hopelessly incompetent."

"Let's not go too far," said Hannah with a laugh. She brushed her hair back from her face and sat up a little straighter.

"Ah, so you _do_ have a sense of proportion," said Manoosh. "I was beginning to wonder."

Hannah thought back on her last few minutes. "Wallowing, was I?"

"A little, a little," said Manoosh quickly. "Hip deep, maybe. Not a full-bore wallow, by any stretch. Those take practice, and I can tell you don't get much of that."

"Well, thanks, I think."

"Maybe if you failed more often…"

"I think I'll stay an amateur, Manoosh," said Hannah. "I can think of better things to try to excel in than failure."

Suddenly both of their screens went dark. Mostly dark, except for a haze of purple pixels that seemed to swirl about, almost in the shape of a person's face. "Then I guess this is as good a time as any to interrupt. I'm in need of people who want to excel, and you two will do nicely."

Manoosh felt a strong sense of déjà vu. "Orion?"

"You can call me Frost."

"Sarah's mother-in-law?" said Hannah.

"I have that honor," said Frost. "She's in a bit of trouble, and her team has been sidetracked. I need some new allies."

"We're in," said Manoosh and Hannah together.

"Thank you," said Mary, who expected nothing less. "I accept, but you're actually not the allies I had in mind. In Japan, Colonel Casey mentioned a 'second string'. Do you know who that is?"

"A second string to the Intersect?"

"There isn't one," said Hannah. "After that debacle in LA with a Russian arms dealer and his suitcase nuke, Director Bentley's Intersect agents were de-Intersected and the project was placed in the sole charge of General Beckman. That's why she's going to see the President tomorrow about this DoD operation Sarah found."

The pixels swirled as Frost shook her head. "Unfortunately, she's meeting the President tonight, and the DoD isn't the real problem. It looks like someone else is monkeying around with Intersect technology, and they're setting up our team to take a fall."

"You think it could be Bentley herself?" said Manoosh.

"Let's not speculate," said Frost severely. "We have more than enough suspects as it is. We'll focus our attention on Clyde Decker, and his man Delgado."

"But what about Quinn?"

"Too obvious," said Frost. "When someone sticks up a red flag and starts waving it about, that's the time to start looking elsewhere."

This sounded mostly like a job for Hannah, and good for her, but…"What do _I _do?" asked Manoosh.

"Get in touch with Orion, I don't expect it will be very hard," said Frost. "Get the specs for that suppressor Hannah had in her car and find out what it did to Sarah."

* * *

Nothing happened. The box did not click, nor did it open.

Quinn pried at the lid anyway. "What the hell?"

"Better be careful, Quinn," said Sarah. "You might actually get it open." Which would not be a good thing. Opening that lockbox without the right inputs would simply destroy the contents.

"What's the matter?" said Vivian.

"It's not opening," said Quinn. "She's gimmicked it somehow." He took the box to Sarah's other hand, just on the off chance, but her other thumb didn't work either.

Effective resistance techniques get a lot more coverage.

"So you're telling me that even she cannot open her own box?" snarled Vivian. "That's absurd."

"No it's not," said Quinn, putting the box down. "What's absurd is her letting me see her lock the box in the first place. Only one thumbprint will open that box now, but we don't know whose."

"But we know it's not hers," said Vivian.

"That much we do know."

Vivian lifted the Norseman. "So I can kill her now."

* * *

**A/N2 Comments welcome.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** I loved the Buy More sequence from Goodbye, everyone finally getting a chance to show their true colors and skill sets, but it was far too short. Otherwise, some really badly thought out gags just had to go. The idea that a foreign national could discharge a weapon, disable a foreign government's foreign aircraft, and leave it in the middle of the street in another country's capital city was just to ludicrous, even for this season. Team B would have been interned for a month, until this international incident got resolved, if it ever did.

Some people like to go on about how Fake Name was a calculated insult to the viewers, I find this sort of thoughtless and unrealistic plotting to be far more of an insult. They pulled this sort of crap since Other Guy ended. A train ride from Paris to Zurich that takes three days? It only got worse from there.

* * *

"_You cheated."_

_"What shall we talk about?"_

"_You've only got one.__" _

"_So I can kill her now."_

* * *

Manoosh stared at the blank screen for a while after Frost stole his friend away from him. He had to find Orion? Why did _he_ always have to do the finding? Every time he did find someone, somebody else, like Frost, came along and took them away.

Or found them first. _Bearded troll._ Agent McHugh deserved better.

He typed _Orion_ onto his screen, and waited a few minutes, but no one responded. His former mentor was going to make it difficult, but Manoosh really wasn't in the mood right now. He grabbed his tools and headed for the Intersect room.

* * *

"We need to find Sarah," said Frost, as Manoosh's image dropped from her screen.

"I can do that," said Hannah.

"How soon?"

Hannah thought about that. The problem wasn't a lack of possibilities, but too many of them. Once they were away from the crash site the spreading branches of her decision tree could take "Days."

"We don't have days," said Frost. "Anything over an hour is too long." An impossible deadline. Her son's specialty was meeting those, but her son wasn't–

"Then I need to bring some others in on this," said Hannah.

"We need it kept quiet." Not an easy thing to do anywhere, but especially in DC.

"So I'll tell them to keep it down," said Hannah, sounding inappropriately blithe. She made a call, setting her phone on speaker so she could type.

"Can you trust them?"

"If I can't I'm in trouble."

The call picked up on the second ring. "Hey sweetness."

"No time for that, Bird Dog," said Hannah, her brisk tone covering up her embarrassment and hopefully preventing her husband from using any more pet names over the phone. "I need the Hounds and I need them now." Her speaker made a weird noise. "And no howling! I need every nose to the ground on this one."

"Give me five minutes, Huntmistress."

"I'll set up a conference line, Bird Dog." She ended the call.

"Your husband calls you Huntmistress?" asked Frost, glad she would never write a report about this night.

"My target, my hunt," said Hannah, bright red. Her fingers flew through the process of setting up a bridge line and sending the instructions to 'Bird Dog'. He'd share them as needed.

"So if it was someone else's hunt they'd be the Huntmistress?"

If they were a girl. "Mm-hmm," grunted Hannah, knowing what was coming next.

"What do they call you then?"

People started checking in, Bird Dog and Dirt Dog and a whole bunch of other Dogs, speaking over each other so fast Frost lost track of it all. Frost hoped they were as good as they were eager. "We're ready, Huntmistress."

Hannah sent out a general post to everyone's mailbox, the best still she'd managed to pull from a traffic camera, two men carrying Sarah to an open car door. When the message arrived, the speaker echoed with what sounded like the largest dog in the world, barking once.

"What the hell was that?" asked Frost into the total silence. Even her pixels stopped swirling.

"They call me the Big Dog, Agent Frost," said five-foot-four, one hundred fifteen pound Hannah with a laugh. "Alright, Hounds. This is not a game, and we have company, so find the bucket of Zip-It and each of you grab some."

The purple pixels hid Frost's smile. Just as well. This woman knew how to take charge.

"The target is the woman in the image," Hannah continued. "She's a CIA officer, she's local, and as you can see she's not going 'cause she wants to."

"Holy crap," said one man in shock. "This is real."

"Back of the pack already, Dusty?"

"Eat mine, Ratcatcher."

Hannah put an end to the banter. "Fetch."

* * *

"You know," said Casey, rattling the cuffs that secured him to the seat in the back of the truck. "For just one guy, this Quinn sure is causing an awful lot of trouble. More than Miller, even."

"You watch your mouth, Casey," said Carina. "I spent years perfecting my craft. This guy Quinn?" She rolled her eyes. "What an amateur."

"A highly-skilled amateur," said Chuck. "Between the Intersect and the torture, I can see where he'd lose his mind a little."

Carina bestowed upon him a mighty frown. "Are you implying I've lost _my_ mind, Chuckles?"

While Chuck tried to figure out a gentlemanly way to extract his foot from his mouth, Casey jumped on that one. "All right, who are you and what have you done with my partner?"

"What are you talking about, Casey?" she asked.

"The Agent Miller I know is upgrading her banter," said Casey. "So there's no way she'd dangle that kind of low-hanging fruit in front of me unless something was throwing her off her game."

"She could have been replaced by an outer-space alien," said Chuck.

"You've used that line before," said Carina. Maybe something was throwing Chuck off his game as well. _Oh, God, am I agreeing with Casey?_

"Yes, but Casey hasn't."

"Don't try to out-logic him, Miller," said Casey. "He'll run rings around you, alien or not."

"Oh…_intercourse_ the outer-space alien, Casey."

"Upgraded banter alert," said Chuck.

Casey smirked. "I saw it."

Carina hated it when he smirked. "I'm worried about Sarah, and so would you be, if you had a single lady-feeling in your entire manly-man body."

"Manly-man?" said Chuck.

"Aw, Carina," said Casey, "I didn't know you cared."

She winked at him. "I didn't strip you down to your lucky Irish boxers–twice–for nothing."

Chuck grinned. "Speaking of low-hanging fruit–"

Casey bestowed upon him a fierce glare. "Shut it, Charles!"

"I'm just sayin'… they couldn't have been that lucky," snarked Chuck. "As I understand it they stayed on both times."

"You know what they say, Charles," said Casey. "Third time's the–" He stopped in mid-aphorism.

"Not a Lucky Charms joke, Casey," whined Carina.

"Shh." Casey turned his head to one side, listening to whatever noises were coming from the driver's section. "Someone's talking."

* * *

The Hounds ripped into the picture from all angles, the makes and models of the cars, the faces and appearances of the drivers, the location and all the possible ways out of it. Despite the competitiveness displayed before the hunt, they worked with no sign of ego once it started. This pack would capture its prey and it didn't matter which of them had point when that happened. Being _last,_ the dust-eater of the pack, was what they all tried to avoid. Not to mention that the Big Dog told them not to.

Frost didn't even try to keep up.

Traffic cameras were checked for faces. License plates glimpsed in profile were normalized and the possibilities processed, some of which had the same rental agency in common. Hackers went after their records while signals experts found codes for transponders.

"–They were all rented with an account belonging to one Renny Deutsch, a noted German arms dealer–"

Bird Dog pulled a satellite into position and tracked them all simultaneously, freeing up the traffic-cam guy to do other things.

"–observed attending a function at the Russian embassy in Berlin last night–"

"Maybe someone picked his pocket–?"

Hannah's finger's flew as she typed it all down, but even so they would need the recording to get it all.

"Breaking news, Renny Deutsch found shot to death in a Wienerlicious early this morning–"

"Deal gone bad or hostile takeover?"

Could be both, thought Frost. "Could be both," said Hannah.

"Had to be a deal, why else would anyone go into a Wienerlicious–?"

"I'll see who's in town–"

They had a list already prepared. DC attracted powerbrokers of all sorts like moths. Faces popped up and the voice named names to go along with them. Known agents. Known aliases. Known agents of known aliases. Frost recognized most of them but disregarded them, letting the river of sound flow over her until she heard, "Nicholas Quinn."

"Hold him," she said. Quinn's image moved to the top of the screen. "Keep going."

He started with the list again, but neither Thomas Delgado nor Clyde Decker seemed to be on it. Whoever they were supposed to be holding, they weren't holding him in DC.

A problem for another day. "Focus on Quinn," said Frost. The other images shrank to the edges of the screen as his took the center. "Blow up the image." Quinn appeared to be in an airport concourse, with a hand shielding his head, like he was on the phone, while he was really blocking the cameras he could see. "Who's that with him?"

The other person in the photo didn't look like she was 'with' anyone, beyond standing in the same field as the subject of the photo, but Frost trusted her instincts. The image of the ticket in her hand expanded and rotated, OCR resolving the blurry characters into a set of letters and numbers. There was a bit of a wait as whichever-Hound-this-was had to pull up the records for that plane and flight. "Subject is listed on the passenger list as one Vivian MacArthur."

Hannah looked up, recognizing the name. "But that's–"

"That's not her name," said Frost quickly, but she didn't say what the lady's name was. This gazelle was a lion in disguise, and the Hounds couldn't be allowed to know what they were hunting. _Vivian Volkoff is in America._ Of course she had to be able to get in secretly, she'd attacked Chuck, hadn't she? Unless she'd let the Norseman out of her sight and Frost didn't accept that for a second. Wherever Vivian was, the Norseman would be, and her pregnant daughter-in-law was probably there too. "Where is Miss MacArthur now?"

* * *

Manoosh stood back and watched the results of his handiwork for a few seconds, satisfied that all was as he wanted it to be. And why shouldn't it be that way? It was tech, and he was the master of tech. Once Orion had shown him that it was possible to light up one panel at a time it hadn't taken Manoosh long to figure out how. Now his five panels, blinking in sequence, were a bat-signal of sorts, to the only man who'd be able to even see the signal, much less understand it. Now all he could do was wait, and hope he got a nibble.

* * *

Chuck and Carina pulled against the shackles as they leaned in as close as they could get. Not very close, but the driver had unconsciously slowed as they talked, so the noise level in the back of the truck dropped. They still couldn't make out the words, but the cadence of the voice was very clear.

"It's Decker," said Chuck. Now was not the time to play by the rules. Whoever thought they were running this railroad would only listen to Decker for a minute, but he wouldn't need more than that. "Carina, you have your–"

Carina held up her hand, one fingernail shorter than the others. "I told you I needed a new set, Chuck."

"Relax," growled Casey. He held up a handcuff key in his fingers.

"Great, Colonel," said Chuck. "Where did you–oh, no…"

"Ewww," moaned Carina.

Casey undid his hands, stood, and zipped his fly. "What? It's the only place they wouldn't search me."

* * *

By the time Manoosh made it back to his desk and put his tools away, a line of text had appeared on his monitor, with the cursor blinking rather impatiently for a response. HELLO MANOOSH.

_Orion. Nice to see you._

YOU SHOT OFF ENOUGH FLARES.

_I was in a hurry._

WHAT FOR?

Keys clattered as Manoosh filled in his former mentor on the details of the mission he'd almost been a useful part of.

I NEVER HEARD OF A SUPPRESSOR SMALL ENOUGH FOR A SINGLE VEHICLE BEFORE.

_It's new tech, they captured it in a raid. So far we've only shared it with our closest and most trusted allies._

THAT MEANS IT'LL BE ALL OVER THE PLACE TOMORROW.

_That's what I said, but who listens to the smartest people in the room?_

WE'LL NEED THE SPECS FOR IT.

_Race you!_

* * *

The first the back-up vehicle knew of their escape was when Carina flipped the tarp back. The MPs slowed, rather than run escaping prisoners over or give them a target if they should somehow turn out to be armed, but they didn't pull back far enough. Chuck had a running start, and John Casey to act as a springboard.

He sailed through the air in a perfect vault, twisting in mid-air to land against the windshield, crushing it out of the frame and into the two guards, before they could even get the radio unhooked. The driver was knocked out and the second guard received the dose of fakeadeathanol in Carina's second broken off fingernail.

Chuck flipped backward onto the hood of the truck as Casey and Carina ran up to the doors of the slowly-moving vehicle. Casey pushed the shattered windshield up from the driver's lap, killed the ignition, and pulled the driver out, while Carina slapped her two smallest fingernails together and shoved the keyhole bomb into the ignition. She pulled the other guard with her she stepped back. The only thing the bomb hurt was the truck.

Chuck pulled a locked chest from the back. "Here they come," he said, referring to the guards in the first truck, which was coming around rapidly.

"Got our gear?" said Casey.

_Bang!_ "Yes." Chuck took his tranq guns while Casey and Carina rearmed more completely.

The truck stopped a distance away, and the guards got out to approach on foot. Chuck raised his weapons. The guards recognized them and didn't fear them at that range. Their mistake.

A line of bullets stitched the ground as a helicopter flew by overhead. "Casey, take it down," said Carina as Chuck threw himself out of the way.

"I'm not 'taking down' one of our own birds," said Casey. "All I've got is my Desert Eagle anyway."

"Good, let me," said Chuck, grabbing Casey's wrist. Pressing on the nerve, he loosened Casey's grip and plucked the gun from his hand. He fired once at the helicopter, and black smoke started spewing from the engine cowl. Chuck handed the gun back. "Not like we want to hurt anyone." As the helicopter slowly came down, they ran to the remaining truck. "They'll be back in the air pretty quickly, but we'll have to dump the truck pretty soon anyway."

"We can't go back home now," said Casey.

"No, we can't. We'll have to gear up someplace else. We'll surrender after we've taken care of Decker."

* * *

"No, you can't kill her now," said Quinn. "We need her to open the box." God, he hated dealing with obsessed people. They just couldn't think straight.

"You just said that she couldn't."

"No, I said that her thumbprints couldn't. Somebody's can, and she knows who that is."

"I'm fairly certain that they're Agent Charles', but you can understand why I'm reluctant to bring these two into the same room together. They're very…synergistic."

Quinn looked at her suspiciously. "So what's your plan? Take the box to Charles rather than bring Charles to the box?"

"It's the obvious solution."

Obvious nothing. "I don't think so," said Quinn. "That box is our joint property, no way I'm letting you open it without me, and someone has to keep an eye on Walker."

"So I'll summon a–" Minion. A mere minion against Sarah Walker, _Agent_ Walker who had somehow managed to trap them both, even though _she_ was the one tied to the chair. "No." Someone had to stay, one of them would have to stay. Both of them. She wouldn't let the box out of her sight either. "We appear to be at an impasse." That devil woman!

"The last person who said that to me rode a Japanese train down a mountainside," said Quinn.

Vivian raised the Norseman. "Don't think that I'll oblige you similarly."

_My DNA too, huh? _"You won't have to," said Quinn calmly. She wouldn't use that as long as Walker was in front of it too. "As I'm sure Walker knows, this type of box has a safety, in case the person it's keyed to dies before he can open it. We just need her to give us the key."

All her plans had gone sideways tonight, but Vivian was sure of one thing. "She won't."

"Everyone talks," said Quinn. "We just need to find her breaking point." He smiled. "Maybe I'll get to use my bolt-cutter after all."

* * *

**A/N2 Comments welcome.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N** I had an idea for a great Alternate Finale story, while watching the next part of the Goodbye. I've also had 'Take On Me' playing my head for days, from rewatching this episode.

* * *

"_They call me the Big Dog."_

_"Someone's talking."_

"_Relax.__" _

"_Everyone talks."_

* * *

FBI Agent Alex McHugh was in her bed, resting before her flight to Denver in the morning. On the surface it was nothing more than another publicity event, but that's the way they had to look. As the only FBI agent read in on the Intersect project (and unofficially at that), no one could know the real reason she made so many trips to places that already had agents on the scene. Her last-minute replacement of Agent Johnson in Miami for no obvious reason had drawn some unwelcome attention already, but Gertrude had come up with a plausible cover before she left the country. As long as it was the only case, and no one looked too deeply at that cover, they could live with it.

Her boyfriend was also having to live with it, though, and that's not what he signed up for, dating an FBI trainee. Her meeting with Mr. Depak had given her a welcome opportunity to see him one last time, to let him know about her mission. He'd put a happy face on, the dear, but she knew he wasn't, knew he'd rather she be home. "Hey," he'd said, "I don't think of it as you going away. I think of it as me having an opportunity to welcome you back." She was looking forward to that.

Her phone rang.

* * *

"So what's it gonna be, Sarah?" asked Quinn jovially. "Are you going to spoil my fun and give us the key, or do I get to play with my toys?"

"You boys and your toys," said Sarah, in a 'you silly man' voice. "You don't need toys, you just need your head."

"My head?"

"His head?" asked Vivian.

Sarah shrugged. "Whack him over the head with the box enough times, it'll open."

Vivian seemed amused, and perhaps she was. "His head or the box?"

"Either one's a win in my book."

Quinn, it seemed, didn't have much of a sense of humor when it was his own head on the block. "Send one of your guys for my tools," he snapped at Vivian. "We'll see if eight-fingered Sarah thinks that's so funny."

* * *

Casey groaned when Chuck turned into the parking lot. "Not the Buy More!"

"Don't worry, you big baby," said Chuck. "This is just a pit stop, but I think you'll like the main event." He hopped out of the car an up to the door, entered the code, and vanished inside. In just a few minutes he was back with a bag full of stuff and some laundry.

"How'd you know the combination?" asked Carina.

"It's the factory default," said Chuck. "One thing you can always count on is Buy More laziness."

"Green shirts?" asked Casey, eyeing the fabric with horror.

Chuck gave an evil little 'mwa-ha-ha' laugh, but turned at the last minute. "You were right, Casey, not the Buy More. They'd have the tech we need, but we need more than tech. We'll let the Large Mart take the hit this time, and who better to do that..."

"Than some Buy More slobs." Casey's eyes gleamed, as Chuck drove around behind the building. "Large Mart, huh? Yeah, that works. About time those bozos got their comeuppance."

"You have a grudge against big box stores I don't know about, Casey?" snickered Carina.

Chuck snorted. "It's one of the biggest rivalries in retail. Mostly the Buy Morians lose, since Large Mart goons tend to be larger, faster, and smarter, but the rivalry continues." He opened the door.

Carina followed. "Oh, that's right," she said, in a tone of great enlightenment. "You used to work in a Buy More, didn't you?" She stared at the blank wall with some dismay. Somewhere on the other side of it, the demons of retail lay in wait.

"And I wasn't allowed to win," snarled Casey. It would have spoiled the cover.

"No one stopping you now, big guy," said Chuck.

Casey unfurled his green flag. "Let me put on the shirt." Once properly dressed, he popped open the trunk and pulled out a shotgun.

"Um, Casey…?"

"Don't worry Chuck," said Carina, swimming inside a shirt much too large for her, "I got this one." She held up two fingers, extending the lockpicks. Not the most durable pair she'd ever had. "No I don't."

"Heh." Casey marched past her and up the steps to the rear door. He shoved the barrel through the handle and prepared to twist the lock out of the steel door like it was some Large Mart goon's overly thick neck.

"Casey." Chuck stepped up to the door, his tiny screwdriver in his hand. "Allow me." He poked the delicate tip in to the gap between the door and the frame, popping it open with ease. "About the only thing Large Mart ever came in second in was laziness, but it was a _close_ second."

Casey handed the shotgun back to Carina, and she put it in the trunk again. The sound of a helicopter approaching prompted them to hustle inside and close the door. "Should we lock it?" asked Carina. Surely anybody who came looking would find an essentially unlocked door suspicious.

"Absolutely not," said Chuck.

"Be a dead giveaway, Miller, weren't you listening?" snapped Casey. "Okay, now we spread out, do some damage, gather whatever we think we might be able to use, but bury it in a lot of petty vandalism. Take a lot of useless junk too, we'll dump it somewhere."

"So the police will blame it on the Buy More?" That didn't seem like a very nice thing to do to a bunch of innocent…whatever Buy More employees are.

"There won't be any police, Miller," said Casey. "What happens at the Buy More, stays at the Buy More."

"Besides," added Chuck, "If there's one thing BuyMorians are better at than laziness, it's taking credit, and believe me, they'll be glad to take the credit for any hit on a Large Mart, even if they don't really know who did it. They'll be heroes."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the lab…

"I'm just not seeing it," said Manoosh, throwing down his pencil. He didn't write with it, but he liked to have something in his hands that he could throw once in a while. "You're sure it's the waves?"

"I can't think of anything else it might be," said Orion's distorted voice from the speaker. "This device doesn't have the power."

"It burnt out your bug, didn't it?"

"Yes, but that's a bug. The suppressor's supposed to work on those. It couldn't hurt a brain, though, that's why it has to be feedback."

"But the frequency differential is too high for resonance or heterodyning, not to affect her that quickly."

He'd said that before. "We're spinning our wheels here, Manoosh. Let's take a break, give ourselves some time to come up with a new approach."

"That's a great idea, Orion," said Manoosh derisively. "We'll kick it down a notch, settle back, relax, brainstorm. I'm sure Agent Walker won't–"

"Wait, what did you just say?" said Orion.

"I said Sarah doesn't have time for us to–"

"No, no, before that,"

"The…frequency is too high?"

"Frequencies. Hmm. Yes, it does look that way, doesn't it?" said Orion, his tone distracted.

Why was it meaningful now? "Orion?"

"Let me get back to you with this, Manoosh. I may have an idea." The screen went completely black.

"Orion?" Nothing. "Great. Just _spiffing._" Orion just stole his mission. What could he do now? No idea. Well, one idea. Call Frost, see if she had any ideas, or maybe he could help them with their problems. Better than nothing. He pressed the button on his monitor. "Hannah."

Before he could even pull his hand back the monitor made the most godawful noise at him, a lot of different voices warbling erratically. Hannah appeared on the screen, saying 'Hounds rule!' over and over, with a bunch of other voices chanting along with her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted over the din. "Open mike night at the wolf pack?"

Hannah slapped a hand down, and the discordant ululation cut off abruptly."Oh, uh, hi, Manoosh. No, um, we were just celebrating, you know…"

"You and you're friends, the, uh, Hounds?" he guessed.

"Exactly!" Hannah looked for a good spin to put on things. She slapped up that last graphic her husband had left them, a bird's-eye view of a hotel and its parking lot. "We, um, found Agent Walker for Frost, and she's going now to get her back."

Manoosh studied the image. There were at least three vehicles showing on the thermals. "Alone? She's not waiting for the team?"

Hannah shook her head. "Can't. Apparently 'sidetracked' means 'arrested' in spy-ese."

"Arrested?" Some goons with an Intersect get the guys arrested, and she's going after them by herself? _He'd_ been a goon with not even an Intersect once, just one skill set, and he took out a bunch of mercs by himself, that one time. She wouldn't have a chance.

"That DARPA thing," said Hannah casually, unaware of his fears. "But she got lucky. It turns out that FBI agent you briefed hadn't left yet, so it's not like she's going alone."

Agent McHugh too? What had he done? _What am I going to do?_ "Oh, well, that's good, I guess."

Hannah nodded. "Absolutely it is. We'll have her back soon, you'll see."

"I hope so," said Manoosh for lack of anything better to say. "Well, that's it for us, I guess. Good job, don't know if I said that before."

"Thanks." Suddenly Hannah wilted. "Now I have to figure out how to write this all up for the General. Wish me luck."

"Yeah." He had to _do_ something. "Good luck."

* * *

Frost's phone rang, but the number didn't mean anything to her caller ID, which wasn't at all unusual. Not too many people had this number, and they would have lots of opportunities to lose their phones. She put it on speaker. "Yes?"

"Little Tractor, this is Graboid."

Frost lifted her phone to make sure the mike caught every word. "What did I tell you about that stupid code name?"

"Um, that it was stupid, even if it was thematically appropriate," said Graboid. "You spent most of that plane ride asleep, remember?"

"Fine, it's still stupid, and it's not thematically appropriate anymore, so _get me another one_."

The phone sighed. "Fine, Grandma Bear. Give me a sitrep."

Frost smiled. "Hannah's Hounds got us a location for Goldilocks, the Grand Ambassador on K Street. Baby Bear and I are going after her now."

"Hey!" yelled Alex.

"Is 'Baby Bear' who I think she is?" said the phone with Dirtnap's voice.

Alex grabbed the phone. "Yes she is, but you'd better call her A Lead if you know what's good for you." She tossed the phone back to its owner. "'Baby Bear' my ass."

The phone laughed at them both. "Roger that, A Lead. B Team is on its way."

"We're not waiting, B Lead."

* * *

"About time," said Quinn, as a couple of men returned from an impromptu trip to find an open hardware store. They dumped their bag of gear at his feet, making him take a step back.

"They serve me, Mr. Quinn, not you," said Vivian sharply. She nodded graciously at them. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Quinn knelt and started rooting through the bag, like a kid on Christmas. The first item out was pair of bolt cutters as long as his arm. "Oo, the long ones!" He checked the action a few times, watching Sarah's reaction, before he arranged it on the table in front of her. A cordless drill was next, and an assortment of drill bits. "Let's just plug this in right now," said Quinn. "In case you last long enough for me to get to use it." He pulled more and more bits of metal from the bag, laying them out on the table after ooh-ing and aah-ing over each.

Vivian began to look a bit green, and she looked at Sarah with something like wonder. "Does the sight of all this array leave you so totally unaffected?" she asked, striving for an air of detached curiosity.

"I once broke a warlord with a matchstick," said Sarah calmly. She waved a hand at all the display. "This is for his sake, not mine."

Vivian seemed to take heart from Sarah's own equanimity. "Well, that's as may be, but honestly I rather think the shears are meant for you. Am I right, Mr. Quinn?"

"Don't worry, Miss Volkoff," said Quinn, running a hand over his treasures. "Agent Walker may talk a good game, but when the rubber hits the road, well, little bits of rubber come off."

If only he wouldn't grin like that. "An astute observation."

Quinn didn't bother sneering back. She'd get hers. "So, Sarah," he said instead, picking up a pair of pliers. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Actually, there is."

He played along. "I'm listening."

"I'm going to kill you," said Sarah. "Real soon."

* * *

The elevator stopped, making a chiming noise, just in case all the bad guys weren't already aware of their approach. A-Lead and Grandma Bear waited right in front of the door, guns ready. "They're going to kill us," said Alex. "You know that."

Frost's smile was as wintry as her name. "They're going to try."

The door opened. Three men stood there, slightly apart from each other, guns drawn with every interior angle of the elevator large enough to hold a person covered by somebody.

Sitting ducks for a pair of shooters lying on the floor.

* * *

"Gunfire," said Vivian.

"An astute observation," said Quinn. He tossed his pliers on the table an drew his gun. "Let's hope these guys you hired are worth the money you're paying them."

* * *

"Didn't think that would work," said Alex, as they advanced their position.

"It has its drawbacks," said Mary. "If you don't take out the target on the first round, you're stuck on the floor, but since we were in an elevator already–"

"We were already sitting ducks."

"Only now we're sitting ducks with machine guns."

"Ho ho ho," said Alex.

Frost sighed. "Not you too." She checked the plaques on the wall, looking for the direction of the rooms registered to Miss MacArthur. "This way. I'll take point, and we'll switch off at the junctions."

"Got it," said Alex. "Let's dance."

* * *

Hannah's phone rang. "Yes, General?"

"We have an emergency," said Beckman, without preamble as usual. "The team has for some reason decided to play hardball with the military police, and they've undercut my position with the President and the DoD. Find them. Get them to stand down or I may not be able to save them from the consequences." She hung up before Hannah could get a word in.

Finding them wouldn't be hard. Wherever Sarah was, Chuck would be going there. Finding them _now_ was nothing more than locating Chuck's tracker, and there it was, moving at faster-than-usual speeds toward the hotel. Talking to them, getting them to stop, was a tougher nut. If they really had pissed off the MPs, they'd be off grid in a big way. She pressed the button her monitor. "Manoosh."

The screen sported a progress bar, but no one answered.

"Great." Where the hell could he have gotten too?

* * *

"We have them, Miss Volkoff," said the man over the speaker. "Just two as far as we can tell. I have a team sweeping the whole floor."

"Bring them to me." Vivian ended the call. "Only two, Sarah? I wonder which."

* * *

Carina led the team out onto the roof of the building across the street from the Grand Ambassador, and swore. "Chuck, take the bow. You'll have to take the shot."

"But you're the archer."

"Chuck, look at the distance. I could never pull enough to cover it, I don't have that kind of upper body strength. You'll have to take the shot."

"No he won't, Miller," said Casey. He pointed to a rope, tied to a stanchion and strung out into the space over the street. "Someone got here first."

* * *

Someone knocked on the door. "Come," said Vivian.

The door opened and her men entered, escorting two women, hands raised. Vivian couldn't have cared less about one of them, but the other…"Hello again, Frost. Look, Sarah, your mother-in-law's here to rescue you."

Frost put her hands down and offered Sarah a smile. "Nice to see you again, Vivian. My name is Mary."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're Thing One and Thing Two. We were just about to torture Agent Walker her into opening that box for us."

"Her name is Bartowski," said Frost.

"A viper, by any other name. Tell me, Sarah, which is more important to you, those glasses or Thing One's life?"

Sarah looked back at Mary.

"Don't feel you need to answer her, sweetheart," said Frost.

"Right," said Vivian. "Kill that one," she said, pointing at Alex. "We'll torture the mother instead."

As the men prepared to carry out their orders, Frost stared at Vivian with wide eyes. "Oh. My. God."

Vivian turned around.

A man crashed through the window, swinging on a cable! The glass didn't break, but the frame did, and every gun in the room pointed at him as he slid down the window to the table, somehow keeping his balance.

Sarah stood up, one hand free and swinging the chair at Quinn's back with the other, bringing him down. Frost and Alex broke left and right, as the man hit the table, caught his toes on the large pair of bolt cutters and tumbled to the floor.

He rolled into the cluster of mercenaries and leapt to his feet, punching and kicking with expert precision, taking out three for ladies' one. Vivian reached for the Norseman as Sarah raised her chair for another strike, but Quinn brought his gun to bear first. He shot the chair, reversing its course and spinning Sarah around with it, falling behind the table with a crunch of splintering wood.

This was not an improvement. Sarah rose up, free of the shattered chair, and toppled the table onto Quinn. One henchman down. She turned toward her nemesis.

Vivian raised the Norseman and pulled the trigger.

* * *

**A/N2 Uh-oh.**

**Comments welcome.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N** This chapter's slightly longer than normal, but the others were slightly shorter than usual, so it all balances out. To all who've been waiting patiently for C&amp;S to be back in the same room together, here you go. It wasn't my plan to separate them, but that's the way the story went. Considering that this was a rewrite of the Goodbye, a momentary separation isn't at all the worst that could happen to our stalwarts. I was sort of hoping to do something with the beach scene, but this didn't seem the place for it. I think I'll put it into my own finale, a mere eight episodes from now.

* * *

"_So what's it gonna be, Sarah?"_

_"They'll be heroes."_

"_We're not waiting.__" _

"_Oh. My. God."_

* * *

Contrary to Quinn's deduction, his DNA wasn't in the sample tray of the Norseman. That honor was reserved for Sarah, which was good for him since he was in the cone and the table wouldn't have protected him at all. When Vivian triggered the device, the analyzer determined the unique vibratory frequency of Sarah's DNA. The enhancer used this information to create and then to emit a signal meant to reinforce the chemical bonds of the cell's instruction set beyond survivable limits. The resonance effects shook victims to their bones and beyond, each one experiencing the unique vibratory signature of their own bodies, for the first and usually the last time.

"What's that sound?" said Sarah, raising her hands to her ears.

Vivian grinned, but not for long.

"Chuck?" said her intended victim. "I hear you!" The air shimmered with it, and the sound of bells ringing a long way off, as if he'd spoken her name and the world carried the echoes to her.

Vivian lowered her weapon. "You _what_?"

"He's here," said Sarah. She looked, she searched, she sought him out with every sense, and every sense found him. She looked around her with delight. "He's all around."

Vivian tensed. Agent Charles was here? "Mister Carmichael!"

"Coming, Miss Volkoff!" he yelled from the next room, where he'd been told to wait.

The sound of his readiness steadied Vivian. How could Agent Charles be here? Mr. Decker was supposed to be waylaying him right now, diverting the military police into delivering Charles' team right into his hands. Charles should be dead! How could he be here?

Just then Carmichael ran into the room through the connecting door, and for a second Vivian felt a thrill of terror, before she recognized him. He hadn't yet grown back the mustache, but even so she knew him.

"Chuck!" said Sarah joyfully.

"No!" screamed Vivian, dropping the Norseman in her rage. "Mine, damn your eyes, mine! You've taken everything else but you won't take _that_." She leapt at Sarah, digging her claws into Sarah's long blonde hair.

Sarah gripped her wrists and head-butted her, throwing Vivian back across the room. "I have the original," she said. "I don't want your knock-off, Vivian, so I wish you all the joy of him."

"Joy?" sneered Vivian, backing away. "There is no joy in Mr. Carmichael, not for me. He is pain, the memory of all that you have taken from me."

"I haven't taken anything from you, Vivian."

"But I have from you, Agent Walker," said Vivian, suddenly calm, holding up Sarah's charm bracelet. She took her weapon from Mr. Carmichael's hands and murmured, "Escape plan P," as Sarah looked at her scratched wrist in shock.

"Really, Sarah, a catfight? Over him?" Vivian laughed. "I just needed to get close enough to strip you of your protection." She held up the bracelet, looking it over. "I thought it a little odd that an agent of your reputation would be wearing such a thing." She put the bracelet in her pocket and raised the weapon, taking the minimal aim she had to take. "Let's see how well you withstand the Norseman now."

* * *

Frost took out the final man by herself. While Manoosh's interruption had been timely and certainly colorful enough, it wasn't very long-lived. The young lab rat simply didn't have the muscle or the endurance for a prolonged fight. Fortunately the Intersect, and he had to have uploaded the Intersect to do all this, made him very effective in a short time.

She turned toward Vivian and Sarah, and Vivian's man, who looked so much like her own son, moved to block her. The sound of reinforcements coming up drew her attention to the door. Vivian had far more troops at her disposal than Alexei ever took with him on a trip, and worse, Frost didn't know any of them. Had Vivian replaced her entire guard cadre so quickly, once Frost turned against her? Or were these simply mercenaries on a short-term hire? Probably the latter, their English was too good.

When the door came down Frost was reminded how Chuck could make a herd of elephants seem quiet by comparison, even when he was only nine. Time and the Intersect didn't seem to have changed that.

* * *

"Sarah!" yelled Chuck.

"Ah, Agent Charles, so glad you could make it," said Vivian. Decker must have failed after all. "You're just in time to see your wife die."

Once upon a time Chuck's voice would have risen in panic, but time and the Intersect had done for that. "Vivian, don't!"

"Or what?" she said. "You'll kill me? The ever-so-noble Agent Charles?"

Chuck glared at her, and she smiled at his impotent fury. "No," he said, and dropped to his knees.

Carina, standing right behind him, aimed her bow, arrow already nocked, and said, "_I_ will."

She loosed the arrow, but Carmichael was faster, the tip of the arrow penetrating his arm as he lunged desperately to interpose his body.

Vivian's caught him, but her attention was on Carina, face twisted in rage once again. "You are going to _die_, you tart," she shouted. "You're going to envy Sarah!" She triggered the weapon once again.

Sarah staggered forward, hands over her ears.

"Ha!" said Vivian, turning her triumphant grin on Agent Charles and all those standing by him.

Sarah dropped her hands and lunged, snatching the Norseman out of Vivian's grasp. "Ha, yourself." She tossed it across the room and Casey caught it.

"Impossible!" yelled Vivian. "Does nothing kill you?"

"Not the Norseman," said Sarah, "Not tonight. Give it up, Vivian."

Vivian pushed Carmichael away and lunged. "Never!"

Sarah went to meet her but at the last moment Vivian snapped a kick into Sarah's belly, followed by a strike to the nose, but Sarah turned her head and it glanced off her cheekbone. Vivian jabbed Sarah's outstretched arm at the joint, leaving it tingling and weak. She caught Sarah's arm and twisted it behind her back, shielding herself from her attackers. "I've had a black belt since I was thirteen, bitch."

Vivian shoved Sarah at her team, taking advantage of the distraction to snatch up the box with the glasses, holding it up as a shield as she ran to Carmichael at the window. He caught her in his arms and they fell out of the window together.

Frost made it to the window first, but the people who came behind her were all taller, and they all saw the dark fabric of the parachute as Vivian sailed away from them. "She stole our move," said Casey, annoyed.

Frost shook her head. "Alexei always prided himself on learning from his enemies," she said. "When you stole the EMP device he added a parachute to the equipment list for any trip that involved tall buildings." She pushed back from the window, and they all turned. "Chuck?"

* * *

Somewhere in the middle of their own private universe…

Chuck pulled himself out of their kiss. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes and hands asking the same question. "Is the baby…?"

"We're fine, but yes, I will be seeing my doctor to make sure," said Sarah. "Her kick wasn't hard, I was a fool."

"Not just you," said her husband, taking her into his arms. "I've been underestimating her since day one. She's smart enough to hide what she can do until she has to do it."

Sarah settled comfortably into his warmth. "If only _she'd_ tried to hold on to me, all this would be over." Too smart for that, too.

"Very true," said Chuck. "I tried to hold onto you and look at me now. I think I'm doomed."

She pulled back to look into his face. "Doomed, is it?"

"I meant blessed."

"That's what I thought you meant," said Sarah, settling back down. "Vivian is doomed. I'll know better next time."

His voice went up an octave. "Next time? We didn't catch her but you got the Norseman! There doesn't have to be a next time."

Sarah pushed out of his embrace and grabbed his shirt by the collar. _"She stole my bracelet."_

Oh dear God. Chuck looked down at her scratched wrist. "There'll be a next time." Then his brains started to work. "Why would she do that?"

"Worry about that later, Chuckles," said Carina, whacking him lightly on the back of his head. "A little distance from the crime scene might be good right now." They could hear the sound of sirens through the hole in the wall.

Casey gave a grunt as he came up. "Hunger Games is right for once. Let me just make sure they've got someone to arrest, though." He shoved the Norseman into Chuck's hands and took his tranq pistols, putting them to good use on the hired help.

Chuck took the device apart and handed everyone a piece. "I always thought you should get a grip," he said to Carina.

"Please, stop," she said, deadpan. "You're killing me."

He knew she hadn't been wounded, but... "That's the best you can do?"

"You should have heard my original comeback, it's not like you're the first person who's ever said that to me. Upgrading my banter on the fly isn't as easy as I make it look, you know."

* * *

Manoosh lay crumpled on the floor next to the closet, breathing rapidly. He hurt all over, mostly his legs. That window had been a tough customer, and then there was something on the desk that he'd tripped over. On top of that the Intersect made him do a lot of kicking.

His ribs would have hurt more, if it had taken more than the one punch to drop him out of the fight. One punch, that's all it took. All he could take.

"Manoosh!"

He roused himself at the sound of Agent McHugh calling his name. He looked up and saw her coming over, proud of all the bodies she had to step over to get to him. Those were _his_ bad guys, thank you very much. He tried to get up, his ribs moving to the top of the list of things that hurt. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, and she looked it. She knelt next to him. "What on Earth did you think you were doing?"

"They were arrested," he said, flicking a glance at the team. "I knew you'd be in trouble, I had to help."

"And you did!" said Alex, taking his hand and pulling him more vertical. "She'd just ordered these men to kill me, and then there you were, so…Thank you for saving my life." She smiled at him, at him alone.

The pain was _so_ worth it.

Something rumbled overhead, like a jet on a bombing run, or thunder that came _before_ the lightning. "What is it with you and these small fry?" asked Casey, looming over them both.

"Dad," said Agent McHugh with a hefty dose of 'I'm warning you' in her voice.

_Dad?_

Casey bent over, grabbed Manoosh around his sore ribs and lifted him to his feet with not even a grunt for the effort. Casey looked him over carefully before letting go. "Saved your life, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," said Alex, standing and also watching carefully. Manoosh liked it better when she did it. "They would have killed me and tortured Frost, to make Sarah open that box."

Now Casey grunted, and stuck out a hand. "Thanks."

Manoosh took that hand with some fear, that his own hand would be crushed in the big man's grip. Wow! Colonel Casey was thanking _him_! "You're welcome."

Casey shook once. "Good job, soldier." Manoosh tried for more than once, and Casey pulled his hand away. "Let's not spoil the moment."

* * *

Carina fumbled with her bow, looking for a place to stash the Norseman's grip, as Sarah started patting her pockets. "What's the matter, Sarah?"

"I can't find Chuck's glasses."

"Isn't that what was in the box?"

"No! Chuck's glasses, from Vail! I had them in my pocket. I must have lost them in the fight."

Suddenly the table rose up, as the man under it surged to his feet. "Indeed you did, Agent Walker," said Quinn, holding the missing glasses. "And now the moment of my destiny is at hand." Before anyone could stop him he put them on. He started bellowing almost once.

"That's…not normal," said Frost.

"Get them off him," said Chuck.

"Too late," said Manoosh. "The upload is done, it's his brain processing it that's the problem now."

The second he could move Quinn clawed the glasses from his face, looking wildly around the room. "He's everywhere! Bearded trolls! Everywhere! I can't–can't escape!" He backed up to the wall and flinched when he reached it.

"Ahhh! I see him," shrieked Quinn, spinning about. "He's everywhere, the sun rises, the sun sets, he's everywhere!" He tripped over his own bolt cutters and flung himself back in terror.

"Don't–" shouted Chuck.

"Watch–" said Alex.

Quinn threw himself backward, right out the broken window.

"Whoops," said Casey, and, "Good riddance," when they heard the thud. At least the screaming stopped.

"Now that's what I call a _down_load," said Carina.

"I always wondered what would happen if we gave out the download first," said Manoosh.

"Time to go," said Frost.

* * *

Sarah watched as Ellie used her knowledge of first aid and a Large Mart brand first aid kit to treat the wounds on her arms. "She seemed to think it had something to do with me surviving the Norseman," she said. Casey, Alex, and Manoosh were in the other car, going somewhere else, but probably only Manoosh was all that happy about it.

"How did you manage that?" asked Frost.

"You used Hartley's goop, right, Sarah?" asked Chuck.

"Mm-hmm." Sarah brushed back her hair, scraping at her ear. A little bladder peeled off the back, and she held it out to Frost. "Everyone we've seen killed by the Norseman complained about a noise and covered their ears, so we put little injectors with Hartley's antidote where we could grab them without raising suspicion."

Chuck tipped his head and showed her his own. "Clever," said his mother. _And not needed anymore, thank God._

"It was Chuck's idea," said Sarah, always willing to give her husband his due. "It really worked, too. I didn't even hear anything the second time, but I had to sell it, so I could get close enough to grab the damned thing."

"Wait, Sarah," said Ellie. "Second time? What happened the first time?"

Sarah smiled. "Bells. Tiny bells." She nestled into Chuck's arms again. "The whole world felt just like this."

"Sis?"

Ellie knew what Chuck wanted her to verify, but didn't want to ask. "No, Chuck. No bells. Just an ache all over, and an irritating whine in my head."

"I had that too," said Sarah, sitting up, "But that wasn't the Norseman, that was the suppressor in Hannah's car. God, that hurt. I was ready to claw my own brain out."

Ellie looked at Chuck, who looked up at Frost, and back down at their joined hands. "To paraphrase my mother, in a slightly different context," he said, "'That's not normal.'"

"_Normally_," said Carina, rocking with Clara in her arms, "She'd be dead."

"I'm not complaining," said Chuck. "I'm just…wondering. Why would the Norseman make you feel something so different?"

"I don't know that it _was_ the Norseman," said Sarah. "I've felt like you were all around me for a while now, the Norseman just made it…stronger, somehow."

Ellie put on her 'doctor' face. "How long is 'for a while now', Sarah?"

First Sarah opened her mouth, but then she started to think about the question and shut it again. When she started counting on her fingers, Chuck said, "That long?"

She ignored him. "Do dreams count?"

"I think they'd better," said Ellie.

"Four days?" said Sarah. "Since I left your father's house, I guess."

"Sis?"

"Mom?"

"Stephen," growled Mary, pressing the contact on her phone, "What have you done now?"

* * *

"You lost the Norseman?" said Decker.

"Of course not, Mr. Decker. I know exactly where it is, and so will you by tomorrow." Vivian admired the look of the charm bracelet against her skin. Well, 'admired' might be too strong a term. Her taste had never run to such tawdry knick-knacks, and she doubted Agent Walker's did either. As a hiding place for whatever shielded Sarah from the Norseman it was superb, and since her enemies had the Norseman Vivian could use a shield. As the first thing she'd managed to take from her blonde nemesis it had a certain trophy value, too. "It was useless against them anyway, but they're all slaves of duty," she continued, "I'm sure someone in their chain of command is less honorable. They'll keep it safe for us, if only so they can use it themselves. You'll just take it back when the time is right."

* * *

They gathered at a reasonably remote spot, noteworthy only for a large sign on the edge of the road. In this place and at that time there was no traffic to speak of, but even so they lost no time setting the place up for its moment of glory. Three strong men combined managed to lift a concrete slab from the back of the first truck, placing it on the ground. A woman put a small stand on the slab and put a cage full of mice on the stand, while another set up a video camera, positioned to take in the whole scene.

Inside the van, the men put on loose sweat suits, gloves, and balaclavas, while the second woman checked herself in the mirror and made sure she looked her most professional.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Casey.

"It has to be me, Dad, we've talked about it," said Alex.

"You could be giving up your career."

"It has to be done, Dad, and if I lose my career doing that, then it isn't a career I want to keep."

Casey grunted his approval. "That's my girl." He and the other men checked each other for identifying marks, before he picked up his camera.

Chuck picked up another camera, and made sure the feeds were correct. The signals from the two hand-held units appeared as inset windows in the main window. "All set."

Carina set herself up behind the camera, prepared to direct, and Alex put on her headset. When the stage was clear Carina raised her thumb, pressing 'record'. The camera panned down from the billboard, with a picture of Alex smiling, to the woman herself, standing on the slab. Two men with cameras were in plain view, but unidentified. Carina pointed at Alex.

"My name is Alex McHugh, " she said calmly and slowly, as they trained her to do for all the public appearances she made. "I am an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but this video is not being made with their approval or authorization." She stayed facing the main camera, ignoring the two cameramen. The long shot was the most important, to prove that no edits were made to the record they were making.

The third unidentified man stepped up to the slab, and handed her his burden. Alex displayed it for all the cameras. "This is the Norseman device, the world's most efficient killing tool. With nothing more than a sample of a victim's DNA this device can kill, inescapably and undetectably."

The roving cameras pulled in, one to catch the details as the third man took a mouse at random from the cage and wiped the inside of its ear with a swab. Once the mouse was back in the cage, the second camera followed the swab as its end was cut and placed into the Norseman's sample tray.

Alex pulled the trigger on the weapon from the far side of the slab, and the second camera caught the whine of its activation as the first camera caught the sudden death of one mouse among a dozen others. The third man stepped up and retrieved the dead body, placing it inside an evidence bag which was then sealed, dated, and placed on the stand next to the cage.

"Any man, any agent, any minister, any head of state, can be killed as easily." Alex displayed the device again. "There are no more, nor are there any design documents. Even its maker, Alexei Volkoff, felt it was too dangerous to use, and recent events have shown that this is true. So…This is the Norseman." She put it down on the slab, then stood back, indicating the third man and his current burden. "And this is a fifteen pound sledgehammer."

The man swung his tool with a will, destroying the most advanced killing tool on the planet with the most primitive. Once pulverized the remains were doused with an accelerant and set on fire. After a moment the fire was extinguished and the remaining scraps scooped up and put into another bag.

Alex took center stage again, holding the bag. "This ends the demonstration."

Carina stopped the recording, and yielded her place to Chuck as the others started to dismantle the stage. "Youtube?" she asked.

"Maybe eventually," he said. "Right now we stick to the plan and phase-deploy the recording, try to keep the Powers That Be ahead of the curve. I don't think we need this information going public _too_ quickly." Or at all.

Carina scoffed. "Good luck with _that_."

"Best we can do."

Casey busied himself polishing the cameras, removing any possible prints, while Alex put the cage of mice in her car, along with the two bags. "Time to face the music," she said.

"Hopefully there won't be any," said Casey. "We did a good thing here."

"Without asking permission, so now I have to seek forgiveness instead."

Casey grunted neutrally. "That's supposed to be easier to get."

"I guess I'll find out."

"At least one General will be on your side, and the President's a fair man, I guess." Casey's mouth quirked. "Of course, if it all goes south, you can join us on the lam. Once we break you out of prison, that is."

Alex hugged her father. "Thanks, Dad."

"Dude," said Devon, putting down his sledgehammer and pointing at his head. "Can I take this mask off now?"

* * *

**A/N2 **Exit Quinn. In case anyone's forgotten, the glasses in Sarah's pocket carried the inverse of the upload Chuck took in Vail, which was full of Morgan's selfies.

They couldn't be bothered to tell us what happened to the world's most effective weapon, back in S4. I guess we were supposed to accept that everyone who knew about it would just assume it was destroyed, or something. Once the possibility of its existence was known, everyone would be trying to make one for themselves, but the immediate issue would always be the one that already existed. Until it didn't anymore.

In the fairy-tale follow-up to this scene, any attempt to build the Norseman would be declared a crime against humanity, and Alex and Team B would be rewarded for doing a service to the world. Some more realistic scenarios would have the whole issue swept under a very large rug, or Congressional Investigations, or Alex reprimanded for overstepping her authority. I don't intend to follow any of those lines, so imagine what you will.

Comments welcome.


	21. Fancy Free

**A/N **I lost a little bit of time over the weekend, sawing and chopping up wood from some trees we had taken down. Time for the next arc of the season to begin. But first we'll take a little step back in time.

* * *

"_He's all around."_

"_I meant blessed." _

"_Time to go.__" _

"_You can join us on the lam."_

* * *

The night before…

The trill of the phone seemed more strident than usual. His wife's voice, when he answered it, was low and calm, steady. "Stephen?"

That's how Orion knew he was in trouble. "Yes, dear?"

"Your brilliant ploy with Sarah's charm bracelet was about, hmm, ninety-percent successful."

The 'ninety percent' threw him off his guard. _Only ninety? _"What happened?"

"Well, nothing fatal," said Mary, "Or even dangerous, or we'd be having a very different talk. Just some…interesting side-effects."

Maybe he misplaced a decimal somewhere. Still, not bad for a rush job. And interesting was good, right? "Excellent. Glad to hear it."

* * *

Quick change to DC, and the other end of the call…

_He never learns_. Mary switched her phone to speaker mode, her voice dropping into a more demanding mode. "Do you mind telling the rest of us what it was?"

Maybe it was the speaker, but he sounded more uncertain than usual. "'The rest of us' being who, exactly?"

"Oh, that would be me, the woman who knows where you sleep at night, your daughter-in-law the assassin, her husband, possibly the only man on the planet who could penetrate whatever electronic defenses you put up if he had a real motive to do so, and his sister, the mother of your first and only grandchild, who might very well determine your visiting privileges based on what you say right now."

Ellie frowned at the phone.

They heard him swallow, three thousand miles away. "Um…"

"Think of it as a report on a laboratory experiment, Dad," said Ellie, playing along. "With Sarah as your lab rat, since that's obviously how you thought of her at the time."

"Now that's not fair," said Stephen. "I was trying to save her life, as stealthily as possible. It's not my fault that she left in the middle of the night."

"No," agreed his wife. "But it is your fault that you deployed materiel into the field without giving your personnel the information they needed to know, especially the interesting side-effects."

* * *

Back in LA., and glad of it…

"There shouldn't have been any side effects," said Stephen defensively. He took refuge in tech-speak. "Look. It was clear from the way the lab's electronics diverted the Norseman's beam to Ellie that the original target could be masked. All my fob did was screen the wearer, masking their cellular vibratory signature so the Norseman wouldn't find them."

"I think she would have noticed a fob the size of my lab, Dad."

"Obviously, Eleanor," said Stephen impatiently. "I couldn't generate the field, so I did the next best thing. I amplified and broadcast an existing one instead."

"But then you'd need–Where–?" said Ellie, working it out with her usual speed. He could only be proud of her. "Oh, no. Tell me you didn't–"

"Well what else could I have used?"

"El?" His son's voice sounded nervous. Stephen wondered what his daughter looked like right now, but then decided he was better off not knowing.

"He used your brain scans, Chuck!" said Ellie. Hundreds of hours of brain scans, taken by her, but not for this. "He surrounded Sarah with an electromagnetic field resonating to your brainwave patterns, a virtual _you_."

* * *

Wide-eyed in DC…

Stephen sounded offended. "Now, Eleanor, I filtered those out…" That's why he needed so many, since they were primarily brain wave scans, after all. Distilling the vibratory signature out was a job and a half.

Ellie's personal and professional ethics had been violated, and it showed in her voice. "And I'm sure you did a one-hundred percent perfect job, too."

"So," said Sarah hesitantly, not quite sure what she was afraid of, or who, "All this time I thought Chuck was around me…?"

"Chuck really _was_ all around you," finished Ellie. She reached over and clasped Sarah's hand again. "Sorry, Sarah, I shouldn't snap at you." She glared at the phone. "It wasn't _your_ fault."

Surrounded by the essence of Chuck. "It's not like I minded…"

"Did you mind wanting to claw out your own brain, under the suppressor in Hannah's car?" asked Frost. "Did you mind getting captured, almost tortured, because the suppressor had to be turned off?"

Contented feeling completely gone. "I had everything under control…!"

"On the other hand," said Carina quietly, either because she was holding a happy infant, or maybe some other reason, "We got the Norseman out of it. I'm not saying that what Stephen did is right or anything, but if he hadn't done it we might still be running around with rigged glasses, hoping they'd take the bait."

"Which they did," snapped Sarah. Not part of her plan, the one _he'd_ blown out of the water. She wished he was here right now so she could cram that fob down his throat, it's not like it would explode or anything. Except she couldn't. She didn't have the fob, or the bracelet. They'd taken that too.

"That was a possibility either way, can't blame him for that." Not when they were already talking about one brilliant plan gone wrong. "Since we were being chased by MPs–"

"It wouldn't have happened if he hadn't–"

The TV made a sound, cutting everyone off.

"Hold on, Stephen," said Mary, putting the phone near the set and pressing the 'Accept' button while she was there. She may not have been too happy with her husband just then, but she'd trust him over Beckman any day.

"Ellie, thank goodness you're up," said the General immediately. She didn't seem to even notice any of the others in the room, not even Carina, standing there making faces at the baby in her arms. "We have a crisis."

"What is it, General?"

"Metro police responded to an altercation at the DC Grand Ambassador hotel. Shots had been fired, a room demolished, and several men were discovered dead, including one tentatively identified as Nicholas Quinn."

Ellie looked at all her family gathered about her. Surely the General had to know that she knew all this already. Chuck made a 'go with it' gesture, so she went with it. "I…thought he was in Japan?"

"With the failure of his plans there he seems to have found a new patron," said the General, staring at her. "The room was registered to Vivian Volkoff."

Ellie tried to sound surprised. "She's here? With the Norseman?"

"If she is here, the Norseman will definitely be with her," said the General. "Several survivors were taken into custody and questioned. Vivian apparently had Agent Bartowski captive in that room. She and a box, probably containing the stolen glasses, had been taken from a crash site in DC, but neither Sarah, Vivian, the box, or the Norseman were to be found."

"So the crisis is…?"

"The mercenaries claimed that they were defeated by a three-person team."

"Agent Charles?"

"Very likely. I can't think of any other team that could have done it. We must know what went on in that room, but they're currently off grid. If they should contact you in the next day or so, tell them to come in. This is a perfect opportunity to capture the Norseman, if they haven't already, and the DoD is anxious to study it."

"I thought the DoD wanted them arrested."

"If Chuck and his team can deliver the glasses, the Norseman, or better yet both, all charges will be dropped."

Ellie saw a number of significant glances being exchanged around her, although she kept her attention on Beckman. "If they contact me, I'll pass on the message."

* * *

"Well," said Chuck, once the connection was terminated. "At least now we know where Casey gets it from." The number of lies, omissions, implications, and distinct counterfactuals she'd managed to cram into that short interview was positively breathtaking.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe he corrupted her, him and his evil footnotes?" asked Carina. She smiled at the face smiling at her, and said in a breathy, high-pitched voice, "Can you say 'evil footnotes'?"

"I'm just respecting authority," said Chuck stridently.

Ellie rolled her eyes, reaching up for her baby, before Carina taught her to say 'evil' anything. "I'm not so sure calling _her_ the evil influence on Casey is what most people call respect, Chuck."

"Are you kidding?" asked Mary, wondering how she could get hold of some of the Colonel's reports. "She'll preen."

The sound of a police whistle came from the other side of the room.

Frost got up and retrieved her phone. "Sorry, dear. We were praising General Beckman's skills at creative mendacity."

"Is that what you're calling it?" asked Orion. "Okay, you've got a day, maybe less, before the DoD comes after you, so you need to focus. Did you get the Norseman?" He cared far less about the glasses. Without an Intersect to load, they were harmless, and he was actively keeping an eye out for new construction with Intersect-related materials.

"Yes." Got it, broke it up, and separated the pieces.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you think we're going to do with it?" said Chuck.

"Good boy."

* * *

The day after they did what he thought they were going to do with it…

Manoosh's monitor made a sound, and he reached up accept the contact without looking.

Hannah's face appeared on the screen. "Where have you been?" Then she actually saw what she was looking at. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked, out of breath.

"Lifting the smallest set of dumbbells I've ever seen."

"Gotta start somewhere," he gasped, setting them down, red-faced.

Hannah prepared to call a medic, or sound an alarm. "Since when have you been a fitness nut?"

"Since…last…night," he puffed, collapsing in his chair.

Hannah thought hard. "You stumped me, Manoosh."

"Frost and Alex," said Manoosh, having recovered the ability to string short words together. "Needed…backup."

"Alex?" asked Hannah. "Who's Alex?"

"FBI," said Manoosh. "Agent McHugh."

_And you call her Alex? _"Two Federal agents heading into a hostage-rescue scenario decide they need backup and they choose you?"

"What's so strange about that?" asked Manoosh, a bit stung by her casual disbelief. "Aren't you the one who's always telling me to never put myself down?"

"Manoosh, we're tech support."

"Maybe that's all you are, Mrs. Big Dog Run-with-the-Hounds, but not me," yelled Manoosh, holding up a set of frames from last night. "I made these glasses, that's why they brought me into this project. I made them, I programmed them, and I used them."

She knew all that. He'd built them on contract, tried to stiff his employer, and found out the hard way that all the skills in the world aren't enough."Yes, but what about last night?"

"I'm talking about last night!"

"Why are you yelling at me?" asked Hannah. "I'm your friend, we were in the middle of a mission and you disappeared. I was concerned."

"I'm sorry," said Manoosh, putting his hands over his eyes. "I just have this monster headache."

* * *

Devon came into the house quietly, knowing that Ellie'd had a late night. The excitement of the whole thing was wearing off, and right now all he wanted was to down a glass of his favorite shake and crawl in next to–"Ho! Ellie? What are you doing up?"

She yawned. "So how'd it go?"

"Piece of cake, babe," said Devon, getting a glass. "One take, one time. No one wanted to kill any more mice than they had to, so they were planning the whole thing all the way out there."

"I wish I could have seen it, seen you swing that hammer," said Ellie. "I bet you looked awesome."

He'd performed an emergency surgery, cutting out something unhealthy, for the greater good. He could get behind that. "It felt pretty good, babe." He'd smashed the thing that almost killed his wife and child. "Great, even." But he'd had to wear a mask, take part in an off-the-books operation that could get people he considered family in trouble. Not his thing at all. "Not awesome."

Ellie stood up, came around the table, and kissed her man firmly. "I think _I_ should be the judge of that."

Devon grinned at her. "I throw myself upon the mercy of the court," he said, scooping her up in his arms.

The phone rang. Totally not awesome.

* * *

Alex was no stranger to this office. She'd sat here just a few months ago, not even a year, afraid that her acceptance into the academy was going to be reversed. What would she have told her mother? "I washed out because the fiancé you think is dead got me dragged into the middle of an unsanctioned operation"? Her mother had her life back, and Alex wasn't about to ruin it now with a little thing like the truth. It was as close as she ever wanted to come to lying, having seen what it did to her father. Which would still have been easier than the dancing she'd had to do around the truth, when she had to explain to her mother how she'd managed to earn a commendation almost as soon as her photo ID had been printed, without mentioning who'd brought her into it.

On the other hand, it made the whole bachelorette party episode easier to believe. She'd thought it was an unscheduled exercise for one of her classes at first, until real bullets started flying around real civilians and she did what they told her to do in her classes. The politics of it annoyed her, that she would get an award for simply doing what they were training her to do.

Especially when it interfered with her career development. She'd almost been stuck in a closet on her first real mission, thanks to her high profile, except that the bad guys had two bases and they needed someone to lead the attack on the other one. So to be here, now, the spear tip of an operation that could completely upset this little applecart, seemed just so _right_, somehow.

The phone rang, and the secretary responded. "The Director is ready for you, Agent McHugh."

Alex picked up her briefcase, containing a single disc and nothing else. "Thank you." Ten minutes to the end of the world.

* * *

"Manoosh?" called Ellie, before she'd even completely exited the elevator. It wasn't like she even needed to, Hannah'd already told her where he was, and if what she said was accurate (and what Hannah said was always accurate), Manoosh wasn't going to be moving from there any time soon. But she wasn't calm Rational Ellie at the moment, she was uncalm Substitute Mother-figure Ellie, fearing for a substitute-substitute son-by-association.

He'd collapsed in his chair and he'd stayed collapsed, breathing deeply, but not answering her call. A quick check of the most important vitals told her he wasn't on the verge of death, so the next thing was to find out what he was on the verge of, and the most complete and efficient set of telemetrics in the world was right next door. She lifted him up out of the chair with casual strength, taking him into the Intersect Room and the scanner he loved so much.

* * *

Sarah sat on the couch, her husband's head in her lap, looking up at her as she looked down at him, running her hands through the curls of his hair. "So, blueberries or strawberries?"

"Um, blueberries?" he said, after having gotten strawberries the last three times he'd offered her a choice.

She reached into one of the bowls–which were sitting on his chest, dammit, he much preferred it when she stretched her body out over his, reaching for them on the table, but as she'd pointed out, this was not the time–and placed one of the requested fruits in his mouth.

Ah, life on the lam. He could get used to this.

The screen lit without warning, not its usual crisp image but with a pattern of smudges that looked like a human face when seen from far enough away. "Agents Bartowski," said the General.

"Aahh!" Chuck jerked upright, sending the berries flying but managing to catch about half of them before they hit the ground.

Sarah recognized the image first, of course, having seen it before. "General? Why do you look like that?"

"It's hard to make the claim that your best, if currently renegade, spy team is missing and unreachable when the person you're saying it to can access your phone records," said Beckman. "Your father has proven amply over the years that he can bypass most of our countermeasures, so I put that skill to good use."

"At least you agree on something," said Chuck, picking up the spilled fruit.

"Ultimate weapons can do that. I can't wait to hear about what you did with it."

"We–"

"Through proper channels, please, Agent Bartowski," said the General quickly. "I want to do my best to appear surprised." The easiest way to do that was to actually _be_ surprised, and she had no doubt she would be.

"Yes, General."

"Since I think it's fairly safe to say you won't be surrendering the Norseman to the DoD, and since Stephen says you lost the glasses to Vivian Volkoff, through his own well-meant but unexpected interference, you can expect some delay in being returned to any kind of active-duty status."

"Yes, General," said Sarah.

"Not you, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman. "As far as anyone's been able to tell, you're relatively blameless in this affair, so you will be restored to duty immediately."

"Without Chuck?"

The smudges either smiled or frowned, it was hard to tell. "I didn't say that, Sarah," said Beckman. "Your husband will be some time being restored to active duty, but we have another role which should suit him admirably."

"Janitor again?" asked Chuck.

Sarah knew where a brand-new pair of bolt cutters was, if so. "What role, General?" she said, perhaps more forcefully than was really proper.

Beckman hesitated. "Your team really does inspire the most bizarre and occasionally quixotic loyalties," she said at last. "Mr. Depak took it upon himself last night to upload the skill sets, along with whatever data was needed to employ them, in order to support Frost and Agent McHugh in their rescue effort."

"Oh dear."

"Ellie has him under observation," continued the General, "And she's preparing a battery of tests, both laboratory and field trials…"

"_Field_ trials?" said Sarah in surprise.

"He seems eager enough. We'll be making a virtue of necessity, surrounding him with a team ready to support and, if necessary, contain his enthusiasm."

"Oh dear," said Chuck again. He knew what it meant when Casey sounded like that, and it was never good.

"Congratulations, Chuck," said the General, living down to his expectations. "Now it's your turn."

* * *

**A/N2 **No Morgan-sect her. Not sure this will work out any better.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N** I never would have guessed that Jean-Claude was played by Mark Hamill.

* * *

"_I was trying to save her life."_

"_Now we know where Casey gets it from." _

"_I just have this monster headache.__" _

"_Now it's your turn."_

* * *

"You can't find it?" asked Mary, the second she got in. "You built it. It's sending out a signal that _you_ made!"

Stephen sat slumped in his chair, staring at his screen. "The fob's signal isn't meant for any long-range transmission. The tracker is, but that got burnt out under the suppressor."

They couldn't find the bracelet. "I'm not going to say anything to Sarah unless she asks." This wasn't a truth she wanted to tell.

* * *

A day or so later…

Vivian checked her records for the umpteenth time that day, again with the same result. As of yesterday her computer man had been unable to find any traces of Hydra activity. Her accounts were tallying exactly with her logged invoices. The additional records that Hydra was generating on its own had stopped. Wherever Hydra was, whoever had it, they must have shut it down rather than risk her finding it.

How thoroughly marvelous.

* * *

Some time after that…

"Well, that could have gone better," said Casey, stomping down the stairs of their war-surplus training base. "Even though that vase is supposed to be our payment." Normally John Casey would have distanced himself in every way from a word like 'payment'. His salary went directly into an account which he tended to think of as a war chest, rather than a retirement fund, because people like John Casey don't expect to retire.

However, soldiers like John Casey did expect quarters that suited their rank, which these did not. General Beckman may not have been displeased with them (or she may have, the bunker could have been taken either way), but the politics of the situation they'd put her in forced a certain… circumspection.

Sarah did her best to help. As the only member of the team not in the doghouse with the Powers That Be, and pregnant to boot, she'd been tasked with the development of training scenarios for the newest Intersect, Manoosh Depak. Knowing as she did how many and varied the motivations of people like him (nerds, that is) could be, she was experimenting, while mixing in a hefty dose of basic psychology. In this scenario, the successful acquisition of the vase, and more importantly the chip inside it, would have 'paid for' an upgrade from the dump they were in to someplace above the ground.

"I'd pay six mil for it," said Manoosh, running a fingertip over the delicate, glazed ceramic. "Who wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't," said Casey. "I would've let the damn thing fall and walked through the pieces, rather than let the bad guys get away."

_Philistine. _"You have no soul."

"Not when it gets in the way of accomplishing mission objectives," barked Casey. "Get the chip, catch Jean-Claude, end of story. Which does not mean we let Jean-Claude escape, because we were too busy using our Intersect reflexes to catch the vase after he threw it out the window."

"It's a work of art!"

"That you let him use against you."

Manoosh turned to what he took to be a higher authority. "Chuck, a little help here, buddy?"

Chuck restrained a sigh, trying not to project an image of long-suffering patience to his asset. He was suffering, though, like Sarah he was unable to emotionally distance himself from his asset. He looked up. "Manoosh, if this were a private business, I'd agree with you. I'd put this in the 'win' column, maybe a win with a little star next to it. We recovered the chip, took it away from Jean-Claude, which was important."

Manoosh smirked at Casey, which wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

Chuck rushed to head them off at the pass. "But this isn't private business, and that wasn't the most important thing. We all took an oath of service, and that oath trumps whatever we might want to do personally."

"That wasn't part of any oath _I_ took," said Manoosh. He mostly remembered the 'go to jail' parts.

"You chose to upload the skills," said Casey.

"To save _your _daughter!"

"You didn't know she was his daughter when you did it," said Carina. "She was just a 'hot babe' dating a Neanderthal, and you couldn't stand that."

"There's nothing 'just' about Al–Agent McHugh," said Manoosh, realizing a little late that first-naming the Colonel's daughter might not be the best thing he could do right now. And if she used his heroic rescue as an excuse to throw over her aboriginal boyfriend and trade up, would that be so wrong? It wasn't why he did it. Agent McHugh needed backup and he gave it (because, you know, he could do missions and the boyfriend couldn't), what's so wrong about that?

Casey had to give him that much. There was nothing 'just' about his daughter. "The point is, you put government property in your head. That gave you a responsibility, an obligation, that Manoosh the lab rat would never have."

"So how come Chuck didn't?" Manoosh winced inside. Possibly not the best example.

"That's 'Agent Charles' to you," snapped Carina. _Which should also answer your question._

"He's right, though," said Chuck. "I got the skills, and I chose not to use them."

"You were more useful in the lab, at the time," said Casey. "The only reason you aren't still, is because of Manoosh here."

"Manoosh made it _possible_," amended Carina. "Once we destroyed the Ring Chuck went right back into the lab until the Atroxium forced him out."

"Wait a minute," said Manoosh, not the smartest guy in the room but a close second. "You're not sticking me back in the lab!"

"We're trying not to, in case you missed it," said Carina, "You're the one who brought it up."

"Well I take it back." _Somebody get me the Mona Lisa and a flamethrower._

"Fine, so we can rerun the scenario and get out of this hell-hole."

"Maybe later, Casey," said Sarah, over in the corner doing a great job at being invisible. She'd have to tweak the scenario considerably first. "But something useful has come up. I had Hannah keep her eyes open for something more realistic, and she found it."

Chuck's eyes went wide. "'Realistic', as in…?" He pointed upward.

"Exactly. A real mission, with real bad guys. What do you say?"

* * *

"Decker. No, still nothing to report…it's like it just dropped off the face of the–I know that's impossible! There's no way any agency in DC would let any other agency in DC have that much power. Only the DoD is still scrambling, but that's the only reason anybody…What's going on internationally? ... Maybe we should tell a few people, let them start making inquiries for us…Of course we have to find…because she has the box. If we can't get her toy back, why would she think she has anything to gain by…exactly." _Idiot. _"I won't say anything until she asks…Of course I'll lie, that's what I do."

* * *

"Well, I must say I am impressed, " said General Beckman. The bunker looked like the secure office of a very secure company, not a leftover hole in the ground. "Especially considering your budget."

"We had a budget?" asked Chuck.

"No."

He didn't think so. Good thing they had their stolen goods from the Large Mart, and a con man's daughter, well used to making the appearance of something. Only the screens were real, stolen from the Buy More by some large people in Large Mart red. Retaliation for the earlier break-in, of course. The images on the screens came from two nerds' fertile imaginations, a lot of red Bull, and a competitive streak neither had expected.

Beckman liked the creative use of light and dark to hint at further recesses of the facility. The weapons had to have come from the three agents' personal stockpiles, displayed sideways to take up more room, but even allowing for that she'd seen base armories less well-stocked. Who on Earth supplied the bow? The arrows alone had been fanned out to cover half a wall, and the name covered the rest. "Carmichael Industries?"

Chuck's hands fumbled. "We thought it set a higher tone…"

Beckman considered it. "It does, but that's not been the luckiest of names for you."

"Maybe that's about to change, General," said Sarah. Technically she wasn't supposed to be part of this op, but this op wasn't supposed to be real, either.

Beckman nodded. Certainly the fortunes of this team looked like they could go nowhere but up, but no one would be so foolish as to say so out loud. "Maybe it is. Where's the rest of your team?"

"Carina's getting some breakfast, and Casey's bringing in the client."

"To a _secret_ base?"

Chuck looked offended on his partner's behalf. "He knows how to keep a secret."

"I know he does, Agent Bartowski. It's _how_ he does it that worries me, or would, if I had anything to do with this at all." The General looked the room over one final time. "Good luck."

* * *

Chuck took his sister's call in the privacy of his laughingly-so-called bedroom.

"So how's he doing, little brother?"

"Manoosh is fine, sis," said Chuck, wishing the tiny room he slept in had width to pace in, but it didn't. "He's got the Intersect, and he's doing great with it, better than I did when I started. I'm the one who let him down."

"I was asking as a doctor," said Ellie, "But as a sister I can tell someone is out of sorts this morning."

"I'm supposed to stop him from making these mistakes, El."

"No, Chuck, you're not, take it from an older sibling, which you never were. You can't stop him from making mistakes, and you shouldn't. The best you can hope for is to try to stop him from making _your_ mistakes."

"I've never been a respected elder before. It feels weird."

"You'll be a father soon," she pointed out. "The training wheels had to come off sometime. It's not easy, Chuck, but you'll handle it. You always do."

He blew out a breath, somehow managing to be both nervous and calm at the same time. Thinking about his wife and child did that. "Thanks, sis. I needed a good Ellie speech."

He could hear her smile. "That's what big sisters are for."

* * *

One secret, underground business deal later, after someone other than Casey had escorted their guest from the premises…

"Roger Bale." Saying the name himself didn't help. Whatever crimes Mr. Bale was guilty of, they weren't the sort to attract CIA or NSA notice, and if Mr. Woodley was correct, he'd already managed to hoodwink the SEC. "Last things first, we need to get into his computer room."

"To do that, we need to get into his compound," said Casey. "Serving staff?" He could do that role in his sleep, and it was easy to do last minute.

She gave him a glass of wine once, and he still remembered it and her. "No one would believe a woman as beautiful as Carina would be just a waitress," said Chuck absently.

The unexpected comment in the middle of a strategy session slid right past Carina's defenses. "Aw, Chuckles."

"Hm?" said Chuck, focusing on his team. "What? What'd I say?"

Casey rolled his eyes while Carina shook her head.

"I'll tell you later," said Sarah with a smile. "You're thinking about ways to get an invitation, aren't you?"

"Guests have more freedom of movement." And entourages, at the very least a bodyguard.

"So we need to be guests. Which means either Bale invites us or we invite ourselves."

"Either way we need to get close to Bale right now."

"Piece of cake," said Sarah. "He takes his meetings at that beach club, distracting all the suckers with eye candy he doesn't even have to pay for. Carina will blend right in."

The redhead nodded. "I'll just dig out a bikini I haven't worn here yet, and fawn all over him."

Casey made a face that Chuck agreed with. "That's distasteful."

Carina stood up and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I don't mind a bit."

* * *

Later, at poolside...

"This guy's a major tool," muttered Chuck from his place at the bar."She's hanging on his every word and he spends half the day on his stupid Blackberry." They needed to get that phone, just for a minute, and clearly the usual forms of seduction weren't going to work. Just as well. Carina may not have minded but he did.

Bale lifted his bag up into his lap and Chuck flashed. "Okay, this guy has a bag from the Kensington Racquet Club, which means he's a member, and I doubt he's carrying the bag for his health. Manoosh, see if you can access their schedule and find out if Mr. Bale has a game today. Get all the details."

"On it, Chuck, I mean, Agent Charles, sir," said Manoosh, and Chuck looked over as Carina started choking. She stood up, waving off assistance from the suddenly considerate Mr. Bale, and left the scene.

"Good job, Manoosh," said Chuck. "Carina's clear."

"Huh? What'd _I_ do?"

* * *

Back at base...

"Okay," said Chuck, back in their little hole in the ground. "Roger Bail has a secure Blackberry that we need to access in order to get an invitation to his party, and he has a scheduled squash match this afternoon at two. I see this op having three components, and fortunately we've got three teams. Normally I'd be the one playing squash with Mr. Bale, but since this is also a test for Manoosh, he gets that job."

"You want me to be his arm-candy, sweetie?" asked Sarah.

_Who better?_ "However you want to play it."

"What's squash, Chuck?" asked Manoosh.

"It's the snooty version of racquetball."

"Oh." For a second Manoosh looked enlightened, but the second was over in a second. "What's racquetball, Chuck?"

"Google it. Casey, you have a choice. One of us has to plant the virus on the Blackberry, and one of us has to delay Killer Burnham, Mr. Bale's opponent for today."

Casey looked interested. "Why's he called 'Killer'?"

"Does it matter?"

Casey shrugged. "No, I guess not."

* * *

The laundry services smock left in a closet, Chuck strode into the men's locker room as if he owned the place. He stood like a king, surveying his kingdom, listening for the sound of anyone loitering about who really did belong there.

Nothing. That was good. He got out his lockpicks and started to work on opening the elegant wooden door.

* * *

"You're Killer Burnham?" asked Bale, seeing his opponent.

"No, I'm Killer Kadoogan," said Manoosh, letting Sarah tighten his gloves for him. "Thanks, sweetie."

"I wasn't aware the club allowed your sort to join," said Bale, giving Sarah the twice-over.

"What, short people?" said Manoosh. "Don't worry, when I stand on my wallet I'm just as blond as you." He looked Mr. Bale over, critically. "You're gonna give me a game, right? Not some percentage player?"

"I leave the percentages for the small fry," said Bale, swinging his racquet like a scythe. Get rid of this chaff and keep that hot blonde for himself. "I go for the kill. Let's see what you got."

* * *

"You're a masseur?"

"Yeah," said Casey, flexing his muscles.

"You'd break most our regular clientele in half."

"I'll make every effort not to," said Casey, with every effort at a charming smile. The spa manager took a step backward.

Someone stuck their head in the door. "Oh, my god, look who's got the next appointment!" He pointed at the monitor. Most of the screen was filled with the guy's shoulders as he swaggered past, and they could see the vicious sneer on his face just too, too well.

The manager stuck a little towel in Casey's hand. "You're hired!"

* * *

The door opened and footsteps approached his position, lighter and faster than Casey's and too heavy to be anyone else. Chuck tucked the phone back in the bag and shut the door, just in time.

"What are you doing?" asked Bale's bodyguard as he rounded the corner.

Chuck pulled a towel from the locker next to it, that he'd taken care to open first, just in case. "You're not a member," he said with a frown.

* * *

Bale slammed against the wall, another point lost. "You play a good short game."

"Are we talking squash or the market?" said Manoosh with a laugh. He went to the serve box and let fly.

Point to Bale. "You got out in time?"

"I used to stand on my portfolio," said Manoosh. "Now my wallet's taller. Someday it'll switch again."

"So, uh," said Bale, "You looking to invest?"

* * *

Chuck walked casually down the hall with Mr. Stark. "To be honest I've often thought myself of acquiring a security man, but really, if I knew people I could trust that well I wouldn't need security people, would I?"

Stark nodded. "I completely sympathize, Mr. Charles, but most of us are just in it for the paycheck, just honest guys trying to use what they know." Stark coughed discreetly. "Just between you and me, a lot of the time it's the clients who are real scuzzers. No offense."

"None taken," said Chuck emphatically. "Why do you think I feel the need for protection?"

"Not that I mind the benefits," said Stark. He indicated the hall before them with a nod. "Look at that babe, for instance. Only in a place like this would she be a waitress."

Chuck stood to one side as the attractive redhead passed him, taking the lockpicks smoothly from his hand. He looked up at the sign on the door. "Well, here's where we part ways."

Stark offered him a business card. "In case you feel the need."

Chuck thanked him and stepped inside. The room was a wreck, with a giant of a man lying unconscious on a gurney. "What the hell happened?" said Chuck. "You were supposed to tranq him."

"Tranq four hundred pounds of solid meat?" said Casey, wiping the oil off the floor. "Didn't work. So I gave his face a deep tissue massage with my fist."

* * *

Back at base…

"Manoosh said what?" asked Casey.

"It's fine, Casey," said Chuck. "He accomplished the entire mission, practically by himself." A new mark was more attractive to someone like Bale than all the smoking hot blondes in the world.

Casey flexed his sore hand, and Chuck felt a little guilty. If anyone was the insurance policy here, it was him. "Only if you know where we can get forty million dollars overnight," said the big guy, having gotten his point across.

_No budget._ Chuck smiled as he sat before his stolen laptop. "Actually, I think I do."

* * *

**A/N2 **The plotting of this part of the canon episode baffles me. Why have Morgan play Bale at all? Burnham would have kept him equally busy. Why stand there waiting for the virus to upload? Just plant it and leave, go back for it later. I was going to delete the Stark scenes entirely, but then he handed Chuck a business card and I wondered what could come of that somewhere down the line. So he stayed.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N** It's not that I mind Yvonne Strahovski prancing around in her underwear, but they could have done more with that whole scene than just that. Chuck's self-pity was one of the least enjoyable aspects of this episode, so I dumped that as well. My version got a bit silly, and I'm sure a lot of you will recognize some of the other shows I 'borrowed' from here.

* * *

"_That could have gone better."_

"_I must say I am impressed." _

"_I don't mind a bit.__" _

"_Manoosh said what?"_

* * *

Clyde Decker fetched up outside Vivian Vokoff's door, but he got no further. "Miss Volkoff has said she does not want to be disturbed," said her man Carmichael.

Decker stared at the underling, a glare promising painful retribution, but Carmichael seemed unconcerned, and why shouldn't he? He was more than Volkoff's employee, he was her man, her faithful servant, and Volkoff took that kind of crap seriously. He took an arrow through the arm for her, for god's sake, and followed it up by jumping off a building! "Fine," said Decker, and walked away.

Let the great Miss Volkoff learn of his victory against Agent Charles after the fact.

* * *

"Okay," said Chuck, setting his phone down as they gathered around the table for the next round of planning. "Between Carina and me, the virus was successfully, if unnecessarily, planted. Manoosh found his own way in, and we've transferred a couple of million into Bale's accounts, that should be enough to get this pumpkin into the ball, uh, I mean, the party." Chucked looked down at the table. "Right."

Secret shared glances all around the table. "All right, Chuck," said Carina, "What's the problem?"

Chuck raised his head, trying to stand taller. "Problem?" he said, his voice getting a bit more shrill. "No problem."

"Yeah, right," said Casey. "You think we haven't worked together long enough to know when you haven't had your Wheaties, Bartowski?"

"Now that's a physical fitness reference there, Casey," said Chuck. "We have really got to work on your metaphors."

Casey leaned forward onto his fists. The table creaked. "If you don't stop stalling I'm gonna start working on my anger management issues…"

"Fine, fine," said Chuck, backing down. "It's really just me being stupid anyway, but I just…you know, I guess I got kind of spoiled. We had a lot going for us before, we were the A team, and now look at us…"

"Chuck, you're an idiot," said Carina.

Casey pulled back, looking shocked. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"You call him the same thing a dozen times a day," said Manoosh, sitting with his feet on the table.

"Yeah, but I never _mean_ it."

"Well…maybe she doesn't either."

"Oh, I mean it," said Carina. "Chuck, how many other teams, in a situation like this, would even have a pumpkin, much less a ball to take it to?"

He shrugged. He'd only been on the one team. "I'm going to guess none?"

"Don't be stupid, Bartowski, they all would," said Casey. "But they'd be smaller pumpkins, and a lot more complaining about it. As far as I'm concerned, it's like those slackers say in the Army, 'discipline in ideal circumstances is useless. It's discipline under fire that counts.'" He gave the dingy room a dark and unhappy glance. "Just because we've moved to a different hole in the ground doesn't mean we're not still the A team." To succeed in this hell-hole they almost had to be.

"And the B team," added Manoosh.

Chuck managed a weak smile at the feeble joke. Casey glared at him. Something made a growling noise.

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you didn't get _that_ one," said Manoosh.

"Oh, I got it, pipsqueak," said Casey. "But that wasn't me." He pointed at the phone on the table. "What the hell's wrong with that, Chuck?"

The phone was a purely electronic device that sounded as if it had engine trouble. Chuck picked it up and listened, eyes wide. He tapped the screen a few times, and his eyes got even wider. "Oh, crap."

"What's going on, Chuck?"

Chuck check all points of the compass and a couple from the zodiac for good measure. "You guys have to keep this quiet."

"No promises, Chuckles," said Carina. Threatening to tell was most of the fun of blackmail.

"I'm not asking for any. I don't have to." Chuck leaned in real close. "That was my father. He used a special tonal encryption scheme that only we know, to everyone else it sounds like, hmm, actually, Casey might pick it up right off."

"Ha-ha, Bartowski. What'd he say?"

Chuck looked around again. "He said they can't find Sarah's bracelet. It's not coming up on any of his scanners."

Casey backed away from the table. Carina almost, well, actually she _did_ shout "Oh my God," but she slapped her hand over her mouth so it wasn't very loud.

Manoosh looked around in confusion. "So, what? We're supposed to tell her–?"

Casey backed away slowly from the dangerous lunatic. "Are you nuts?"

Carina dropped her hand. "I'm not telling her nothing, Mr. Look-at-me-I-have-the-Intersect. _You_ can go right ahead."

Somewhere, a bulkhead door closed. Sarah had arrived. Casey came to attention, and Carina started scrubbing at her hand with a tissue.

Manoosh began to dimly sense that 'going right ahead' would not be a good idea. "Chuck?"

"Oh, gosh, look at my wrist," said Chuck, holding up his hand and rising from the table. "I'm late for my shift at the Buy More, who's going to keep Jeff and Lester in line…?"

* * *

Somewhere in Burbank…

"This great, Jeffrey," chortled Lester. "Where did you get all the parts to make it look so realistic?"

"It is real," said Jeff. "You remember my friend Joe?"

"You stole a paraplegic's wheelchair?" asked Lester, either amused, admiring, or appalled. It was hard to tell.

"Nah, I just borrowed it," said Jeff. "What? He was already in the bathroom, and it's not like he could come after me. That's the beauty of it, by the time he could even reach a phone he'll already have it back…"

* * *

In a hole under DC…

"You quit the Buy More two years ago."

"Big Mike said he'd take me back anytime, and that includes now."

"But what about the plan?" asked Manoosh.

"I don't love that plan!" said Chuck, backing away, and he turned to go. "I'll think of another one on the–"

Sarah stood there in front of him. Damn she was quiet! "Another one on the what, Chuck?"

Chuck slapped a hand over his mouth and mumbled into it.

Sarah reached out and pulled his hand down. "What was that, husband?"

"On the toilet. Carina kissed me and I wiped it off, so now I have to go wash my hand, and I thought, waste not want–"

Sarah gripped his jaw firmly, turning his head so she could look at it from all sides, and looked at his palm. "Not seeing any lipstick, Chuck."

"Oh, ah, Ha!" he said pointing at Carina's hand, already smeared in her shade of the day. "She got it already, thanks, Carina, I didn't even see you move..."

Sarah pulled his head back around. "And why would Carina be kissing you, Chuck?"

"Be…cause I told her about her part in my new and improved plan."

Sarah let him go. "Which is?"

"Snooty Mr. Charles' trophy girlfriend."

"Sounds like the old plan to me, Chuck."

"I didn't say that was the new part," said Chuck. "I'm allowing for improvisation, you know, like, uh…Casey!" Chuck ran around the table, and threw his arm around the big guy's shoulders before he could get away. "Instead of Casey being your accountant, he could be Chalmers, Manoosh's mute manservant. Or better yet–" Chuck moved behind him. "Mr. Charles' newly-hired bodyguard."

Casey took a step to the left.

Sarah put on a tiny smile. "Why not your _mute_ bodyguard?"

"That's a great idea!" yelled Chuck, taking a step to the left too. "Way to brainstorm, Sarah!"

Casey growled into his ear.

Chuck stepped back. "Bodyguard is fine."

Sarah stared at them all, one by one. When she got to Manoosh his chair tipped backward and spilled him on the floor. He didn't stop smiling at her.

"Fine," Sarah said mildly. "Plan approved." She turned and walked back out through the door.

They all sagged. "Ow," said Manoosh.

Sarah came back in and they all snapped to attention. "Chuck, I'm going to need you to help me pick out my outfit for tonight's operation, everything from the lingerie on up."

Chuck just stared. "L-lingerie?"

Sarah grabbed his hand and pulled. "All of it, sweetheart. I know it's not in your plan, but you never can tell what I may have to accidentally let slip."

Chuck grabbed for the door but only succeeded in slamming it shut behind them.

Casey, Carina, and Manoosh just waited, until at least two bulkhead doors had sealed after the departing couple. Casey and Carina looked at each other. "Ten bucks says she breaks him on the way home."

_One-handed? _"No bet," said Carina.

Manoosh lay where he fell, staring at the ceiling. "She's gonna crack him like an egg."

* * *

She sat up in bed, wearing a robe, lavender and fluffy, with nothing underneath. Chuck had indeed broken like an egg, but Sarah had taken her time sifting the pieces for the information she sought. "You know you married a trained spy."

A soft whisper rose up from the pillow to her right. "I know."

She rubbed at her arm, trying to run her fingers over charms that were no longer there. "And that training includes Roan's Seduction School."

"I still say the fishnet stockings were unfair," he moaned.

"You know what spies say, Chuck?" said Sarah, trailing her fingers along his arm. "'All's fair in love and secrets', except they usually leave off the love part, because spies never fall in love."

He tried to rise up and face her, but…no. "So that was Sarah the Spy who was doing all those things to me?"

She sank down to lie next to him, her arm continuing to move over more of him. "No, that was Sarah the Wife, who was sitting at the back of the room during those classes and took lots of notes."

His breath started to hitch. "Good notes."

"I'm just so glad I have someone to practice them on." She started kissing the side of his neck. "They're remarkably effective."

Chuck flashed, regretting it even as he did it. His hand came up and clasped hers, ending its teasing stroke. He rolled her over to lie on the bed as he rose above her. "I don't think you're in any position to make that claim, wife. You didn't uncover a single secret from me. I don't have any, not from you."

"So your father's news about my bracelet…?"

"Fell into the new and currently-empty category of things Sarah doesn't need to know about, which, granted, looks a lot like a secret but isn't."

"What's the difference?"

Agent Bartowski (male) looked into her eyes. "You know the difference. The loss of signal is a setback, nothing more," he said. "I didn't want you to be upset over nothing, and I still don't, so let me make it as plain as possible. I will get you your bracelet back, I promise."

"You promise?" That could be bad. Chuck always kept his promises, but Vivian wouldn't give it up willingly.

"I promise. I will do whatever it takes to make you happy. Anything at all."

Normally that would put a smile on her face, but his category of 'anything' had been expanded of late and she wasn't too thrilled with that. "Even if you have to–?"

He put a finger over lips. "That's something else you don't need to think about."

* * *

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this plan?" said Casey. Even though, with his role a bodyguard, he was at least allowed to be armed.

"What?" asked Manoosh, "The other times weren't on record?"

"I still think we need someone in the van."

"To do what?" asked Carina, spreading her hands to indicate the lack of surveillance equipment.

"_You_ ruled Alex out," said Chuck, at the same time, "On the grounds that she quote had bigger fish to fry than us unquote, and General Beckman isn't supposed to know about these little ventures, so who does that leave? Morgan?"

"He runs a tight little ship, according to the team we have stationed there," said Casey, who got regular reports. "That makes him a good manager, Bartowski, not backup."

"Not to mention that Alex would kill him and more likely us if she found out," added Carina, adjusting herself in her dress, to the men's discomfort and her own amusement. "She got a little skittish after that last little job he was part of." Which brought down a major spy organization, including its main base, which they happened to be in at the time.

"So, no reliance on Morgan," said Chuck.

"Not unless we've got a party of twelve," said Sarah, the driver.

The van echoed with silence.

Sarah looked in her mirror. "What?"

"Nothing," said Chuck, opening his door. "Time to go."

* * *

Chuck and his team held back, allowing at least one other party to enter the doors of Bale's headquarters before them and after team one. No one seemed to take any special notice of them. "Looking good, team one."

He sped up as smoothly as he'd slowed down before, so no one would notice the difference as he came to the door, invitation in hand. On the stairs they descended slowly, as if inviting the crowd below to ogle them but in fact scanning the crowd below. "There," said Chuck softly, and they veered subtly toward his target as they listened to Bale and Manoosh act like best friends.

"Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?" Chuck asked his companion, his voice pitched to carry.

"Yes you did," answered Carina with a blushing smile, "But no girl minds being appreciated."

"Mr. Charles," said Stark when they reached ground level. "I had no idea you were one of my employer's clients."

"Neither did I," said Chuck. "How fortunate for us both. Good evening, Mr. Stark, and may I present Miss Miller, to whom you were so kind as to draw my attention just yesterday."

"Miss Miller," said Stark neutrally.

Carina made a clumsy curtsy.

"And my bodyguard," said Chuck, indicating Casey. "Colonel–"

"I know John Casey, Mr. Charles," said Stark. "We went through jump training together." He saluted. "Colonel?" His voice held a world of questions.

"Medical leave," said Casey, putting on a pair of glasses. "Just until I can get re-evaluated."

"Understood," said Stark. Casey was a sniper, and a good one, but if he'd allowed himself to be reassigned he might never get back. "Lady, gentlemen, enjoy the party." He walked away.

"Good call, Colonel," said Chuck under his breath.

Casey grunted, the matter too trivial for comment. Of course Stark would be curious. He looked around. The electrical lines in the walls appeared in bright gold, tagged with their likely purposes. He read off the labels to Chuck as they walked, his head swiveling as if checking for hostiles. When he got to the T1 line and the transformer, Chuck stopped him. "That's the one. Follow that line, you find his computer setup. Sarah, we need access."

* * *

"Chuck!" whispered Manoosh in distress.

Chuck took a fake sip of his cheap champagne, not having to look. "Steady, Manoosh, she knows what she's doing."

"But his hands are–that's so disrespectful!" She was no bikini babe to be gawked at. "I have to–"

"You have to calm down," said Chuck. "This is part of the job, luring him in to make the mistakes we need him to make. Do what I do, think about baseball."

"I don't know anything about baseball."

"Try cricket, then."

"You think, just because I'm Indian, that I care about cricket? That's profiling, Chuck."

"Fine," said Carina. "Think about the look on his face tomorrow, when he realizes he's been had by a beautiful woman and didn't get to enjoy any of it. Works for me."

* * *

Roger Bale played his hand down the blonde's back, knowing her swarthy little sugar daddy was watching. Let him watch. Give him some payback for that humiliating defeat on the court yesterday, above and beyond the humiliation of finding his investment mysteriously disappeared tomorrow. That was an embarrassment he would share with all these people, but Bale wanted him to have a little something extra. Too bad he couldn't take the blonde with him, but his plans were made and in motion.

If he'd felt Sarah's hands enter his pants pocket he might have reconsidered, but he didn't.

* * *

"I'm in," said Casey. "This place is a fortress, you may lose me until–"

Chuck raised his wrist, as if checking the time, but instead he checked the readouts on the wrist computer to track Casey's progress. He nodded to Manoosh, who gestured to the band leader, to whom he'd given a large gratuity to play his chosen song at his chosen time, and that time was now. With a swoop of triumph he reclaimed his girl from Bale's arm and led her out onto the floor.

"Enjoying the view?" asked Carina, as Manoosh and Sarah owned the room.

"Of course," said Chuck, glancing down at the progress bar every few seconds.

"You don't seem as enthralled as everyone else here."

"I came with you," said Chuck. "It would be gauche to stare at someone else's date."

"No one would notice, and that's not stopping anyone else." _And she's your wife, and I wouldn't mind._

"Yeah, well…I've also seen her do this so much better. The blue dress is good but that red dress, wow!"

Carina looked at him funny. "She said you hated the red dress."

He shrugged. "Bryce was there."

Carina rolled her eyes, with an exaggerated "urgh!" of frustration, but a loud squeal in their ears made them wince with pain. Fortunately no one was looking at them. Sarah and Manoosh made a single fumble, but the rhythm of the dance kept them moving and no one noticed.

"Agent Charles, good evening," said the oily voice of Clyde Decker. "Doing your good deed for the week? Trying to get back into someone's good graces?"

"Decker, what are you doing?"

"Just freezing the accounts," said Decker, as Chuck's wrist computer started flashing red. "That should set off the alarms very nicely."

"Don't–"

"I told you the last time we met that you were a dead man, Bartowski," snapped Decker. "I just didn't say when. You'll be the last to go, trust me on that. You'll probably escape. Too bad about your inside man, though." He laughed obnoxiously in their earpieces. "Oh, by the way, thanks for all the money."

* * *

**A/N2 **In canon, Stark met Casey in the locker room at the club. Why the scriptwriters thought Casey could infiltrate the party as Chalmers, the mute manservant, knowing that Stark would likely be there, I'll never know.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N** I suppose Casey getting all bent out of shape over Rush Limbaugh, while dismissing the theft from teachers' unions and families, was meant to be a joke. I took the same idea and made it funny.

* * *

"_I guess I got kind of spoiled."_

"'_All's fair in love and secrets.'"_

"_That's something else you don't need to think about."_

"_Thanks for all the money." _

* * *

"Casey! Casey!" yelled Chuck in his head, but outwardly he merely pressed a key on his wrist computer. Several times.

"You want to cut that out, Bartowski?" said Casey in his ear. "It makes a really annoying beep."

Chuck sighed loudly. In his head. "Would you rather be caught in the act by lots of men with guns?" asked Chuck. "Decker blew the op, stole my hack and froze all the accounts."

Grunt. "I figured it had to be something like that. Once your cobbled-together electronic crap went on the fritz I cleared out. Any other day I might have tried to make it work but with _no one in the van_–"

"Oh, no."

That sounded like Chuck wasn't even listening. "What now?" He was just about to get in a good rant.

"Bale and his men, they're grabbing Sarah and Manoosh. He must think they were involved."

They _were_ involved. "Not a bad guess."

"I really hate Decker," said Agent Bartowski (male).

* * *

"You have to love that Bartowski," said Clyde Decker (bastard), watching the progress bar as his computer completed the business of freezing all that money. Quick and dirty, just how he liked his operations. They'd have a job unfreezing it for themselves, of course, but they'd gain a little independence from that Volkoff bitch. "Little do-gooding mouse can't help dangling himself in front of this cat." He chuckled into his drink.

That was an image his underling could understand. "Yes, sir," said Tommy.

"'We'll see who dies', Bartowski?" said Decker, recalling the scene in his truck, and Agent Charles driving off with his prize, that Winterbottom clown. "I'll show you who dies, one member of your pathetic team after another. You just keep sticking your hand into this saw blade and I'll keep taking off fingers."

"Yes, sir," said Tommy.

"I just wish I could go after his parents," said Decker, sounding disappointed, then he brightened. "The sister should be fair game, though. And her husband."

"Sir?" said Tommy. He loved sisters. Families seemed to suffer more when it was a girl they lost. He didn't get it but he loved to watch.

Decker seemed to remember he had an underling in the room. "Absolutely, Thomas," he said, patting Delgado's arm. That arm twitched with a reflex to hurt the person who dared touch it, but Tommy was a minion and knew it. Decker smiled again at this sign of his control. "Absolutely."

"Mr. Decker?" called Vivian, sounding unhappy.

Clyde lost the smile, and tried to make it sound like he cared, at least until they didn't need that cash cow anymore. "Yes, Miss Volkoff?" he responded.

She appeared in his doorway. Looking vastly annoyed. "Can you tell me why it appears that government resources have frozen one of my accounts? You're supposed to keep that from happening."

Uh-oh. "Frozen…?"

"If I hadn't been investigating a mysterious drawdown I might not have noticed, but believe me I'm noticing now."

"Someone stole from _you_?"

"Yes, two million dollars, but neither wisely nor well. Some brazen little schemer named Bale." Nostrils flared. "I wonder if you would allow me the luxury of borrowing your man Thomas when I go visit this Bale person tomorrow."

"Certainly," said Decker. He could add as well as anyone. One plus two million plus one equaled–"He could use the exercise." _That damned Bartowski!_

* * *

Back at the party…

"We have to do something."

Suddenly Carina came between him and his wife. "You have to eat something, you're beginning to stand out," she said. She grabbed an appetizer from a nearly-empty tray. "Here, have a crab cake." She fed it to him delicately, like a new girlfriend would.

Chuck forced a smile, until he started to chew. "Wow, _mumble mumble_ good!" he said.

"I know, right?" said Carina. Problem solved. He looked and sounded like everyone else who'd tried one, which was probably why the tray was nearly empty.

"No, wait a minute," said Chuck, swallowing. "Those are really good, and I've had those before." He lifted Carina's hand to his lips, pretending to kiss the back of it while in reality speaking into his watch's microphone. "Casey, keep an eye out for Morgan."

"He's here?"

"Check the caterer. He would never deploy an appetizer into the field without being there to personally observe."

"Roger that."

Chuck noted the dance floor filling up now that his partners had been hustled off by the host. With a twist he spun Carina onto the tiles himself. He needed a plan.

* * *

Casey made his way to the cafeteria kitchen, and from there to the catering vans out back. "Grimes!"

Morgan stepped out from behind the last truck, clipboard in hand. "Next time we go double-plus on the crab cakes," he muttered to himself, writing something down. When Casey's shadow fell over his board he looked up. "Casey?" His smile collapsed. "What is this?" He checked out the suit. "Are you–?" Casey got out his gun. "Oh, man! Alex is gonna _kill_ me!"

With any luck Alex would never know. "Where's your crew, Grimes?" They could use the backup.

"Inside, of course, we're handling this whole gig…you're not gonna ruin this for me, are you? It's my biggest score."

Not even worth a grunt. "Eh, it came pre-ruined," said Casey. "But with your men inside we can minimize the blowback. Give me your radio. Unless I miss my guess, Chuck's inside being clever, so we've got to be ready."

* * *

Decker stormed into his suite and closed the door, leaving Tommy to make sure he remained 'undisturbed.' With no way to know which account was hers, he had to unfreeze everything, and of course those lowlifes would snatch it all back as soon as he did. He couldn't even get the tech to do it without having to explain why, so he had to get his own hands dirty. That damned Bartowski, trapping him in his own lie!

* * *

"Casey, did you find Morgan?" asked Chuck, while they were necking in the corner. At least, Carina made it look an awful lot like necking to anyone who happened to look into that darkened corner.

"Yeah, we're out back."

"Chuck!" yelled Morgan over the sound of some struggling. "Don't ruin this for me, buddy, I'm begging you. This whole project was my idea. If this operation gets busted my boss'll knock me down to pizza chef! And we don't serve pizza."

The struggling sounds stopped. "Sorry about that," said Casey. "Don't worry, you do whatever you have to do. He'll be safe and sound when you pull whatever stunt you're gonna pull. His crew is all read in. Let 'er rip."

"Uh, yeah. About that, Casey…"

Anyone passing by that particular darkened corner would have had cause to wonder what he was doing back there, when Carina started to laugh.

* * *

Bale tapped the Enter key with ever-increasing force, as if the computer would care. "The passwords are all changed. What'd you do?" he snarled at his two prisoners.

"I danced a really great Samba," said Sarah, swaying her hips suggestively. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Any time, Bunny Doll," said Manoosh.

Bale looked at his men. "I don't want to hear their voices anymore."

The sound of guns being cocked filled the room, but not the right guns. A group of men all dressed in catering gear stood in the doorway, covering every part of the room with their weapons. "Don't nobody move," said a highly-accented voice, although the accent was kind of hard to pin down. The men parted to let a man walk through, short, bearded, but cool and confident, fully in control of the situation.

"Who the hell are you?" snapped Bale.

Morgan struck a pose. "My name," he declared with grand style, like in all the movies, "Is Ettore La Barba." He bowed, to the applause in his head. "And you look like the man who stole my friend Rush Limbaugh's money. I'm here to get it back!"

* * *

Carina entered the ladies restroom, after making sure it was occupied. The other women were standing by the mirrors, chatting as they touched up their make-up. She took a position two spaces down, and opened her clutch.

"Having fun?" asked one of the other women snidely.

"The things I have to do." Carina began to touch up her lipstick, leaving the bag open on the counter. Her badge wasn't directly visible but it was if you happened to be looking into a mirror.

The other ladies suddenly decided they had better places to be.

* * *

Ettore La Barba? He knew that name from somewhere. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" said Bale.

'Ettore' scoffed. "Those newspapers. They take every little story and they–" he made a little explosive sound effect, complete with hand gestures "–they blow it up. Such a tiny nothing, just a little disagreement between me and my wife, my sweet Gracielita."

"What kind of 'disagreement'?" asked Bale.

"She did no wanna be married to me no more, and I did no wanna die. We start out, it's all fun and games. She shoot my puppy, so I kill her bunny, but when she kill my favorite horse I think she might be serious, so we made a deal. I found a guy who look like me, she kill him, we burn the body and _boom!_ We no married, and I'm no dead."

"Couldn't you just get a divorce?"

"Are you crazy?" said 'Ettore', scandalized. "Divorce is a sin."

Bale rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"You damn right whatever. And now you gonna 'whatever' my friend his two million dollars back!"

Bale pointed at his console. "I can't."

Morgan pulled out Casey's gun. "Well then, my friend, these are gonna be the most expensive bullets you ever bought."

Bale pointed at Manoosh and Sarah. "These two somehow got my accounts frozen. Torture them if you want your money back."

"It's no my money, it's my friend's money," shouted Morgan, in character. "You think I'm some kind of thief?"

"No, no, of course not, Signor La Barba," said Bale raising his hands placatingly. "I think you're a good friend. But these two _are_ thieves. They stole my card, tried to steal my money, and until I get my accounts unlocked none of us can get what he wants."

"They did no take you card," said Morgan, holding up the stolen keycard.

"You took it?" asked Bale.

Morgan tsked. "Nobody watches the waiters." He flipped the card on the desk.

"Very clever," said Bale. "So they may not be thieves but they _are_ witnesses."

"So you gonna kill them?" asked Morgan.

"I was thinking you should kill them," said Bale. "You may not be a thief but I'm not a murderer."

"That's a good point," said Morgan, turning his gun on Manoosh.

"Wait," said the nerd. "Wait, wait. I made my first million with computers like this. Let me try to unfreeze his accounts. You get your friend's money back, I get my money back, and Mr. Bale can do whatever he wants with the rest. Those snobs upstairs deserve it."

* * *

Carina exited the bathroom to find the hall nearly deserted. A few stragglers were following the herd, carefully and efficiently directed to the exits by the surprisingly knowledgeable wait staff. Even the band was packing up early. "Gee, where'd everybody go?"

"Not sure," said Chuck, snacking on the abandoned hors d'oeuvres. He smiled. "Something about an imminent police action."

Carina smiled back. "I hope so," she said, running her hands over her hips, "But let's take care of the mission first."

Casey groaned in their ears. "Bartowski!"

Chuck acted as if he was shocked. "Hey, she said it."

"Yeah, but _you_ set it up!" snarled Casey. "Can we move in yet? The sooner her boyfriend's out of there, the happier my daughter will let my life be."

"Wait for shots fired, Casey, Morgan has to 'kill' the witnesses. Once Sarah and Manoosh are out, you and your team can swoop in." He stripped off his tuxedo jacket, revealing his wrist computer. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to do my part." He started tapping, working his way into the system.

* * *

"What the hell's going on?" snarled Decker, not the most patient man alive.

* * *

"That doesn't look right," said Manoosh. Every time the screen refreshed the numbers were in different places. It didn't help that Bale has hovering over him like that. He hated hoverers.

* * *

Chuck stared at his readouts in confusion. "Someone's messing with the accounts." He looked up to find the nearest faux-waiter. "Get me a bottle of Chardonnay ASAP, please."

* * *

Manoosh stared at his screen in confusion. "Someone's messing with the accounts."

Bale loomed over him. "If you can't our money back then we have no use for you."

"I can fix it," said Manoosh. He typed faster.

* * *

Decker stared at his screen in confusion. "Someone's messing with the accounts." Tommy just stared at him.

* * *

Chuck was typing furiously, one-handed, humming to himself. "…three back doors, no firewalls, and a password in a pear tree…" He dipped his head, sipping some more wine through a straw that Carina had put into the bottle so he wouldn't have to stop.

* * *

"Goddammit!" shouted Decker, utterly lost.

* * *

"And the Piranha wins again!" shouted Chuck, raising his arms in victory.

* * *

"I can't control it," said Manoosh.

"Then you're a dead man," said Bale. He looked over to his partner in crime, and Manoosh followed his gaze, to find himself looking down the surprisingly large barrel of a very large gun.

"You lose," said 'Ettore'. His gun went off, and Manoosh tumbled backward out of the chair in a crumpled heap.

"Sweetie!" shouted Sarah.

"No sweetie for you," said Morgan, aiming at her and pulling the trigger a second time.

* * *

"Casey!"

"We heard," said his partner. "We're moving."

"Lights out," said Chuck, pressing a single key on his board. "Now."

* * *

The room went dark, the whole building in fact.

"FBI!" shouted someone down the hall. "Freeze!"

La Barba's men didn't freeze, it seemed. Bale saw the muzzle flashes as they opened fire, and heard the screams as they died when the FBI guys fired back.

Bale wasn't the type to face his enemies. "Let's get out of here!" he shouted, running for the emergency exit. His men, clumsy in the dark, must have tripped over everything it was possible to trip over as they tried to follow him. They sounded like a herd of elephants, blind elephants. He turned to call, get them out quietly. Let La Barba go down for the murders. As long as his computers were intact he could get his money back, somehow.

Dim shapes appeared in the lights from his machines. "Nobody move!" snarled a voice.

Somebody must have moved, because guns started firing. "No!" shouted Bale, too late. Automatic fire from the door blew all of his machines to hell, sparks flying, and he ran, nothing left to save but himself.

"NVGs off," said Casey. "Okay, Agent Charles."

* * *

Back in the empty ballroom, Chuck pressed a button and the power came back on. Carina stood squarely in front of him, goggles up but otherwise ready to take on all comers. Chuck put down the rest of his Chardonnay with some regret. He was too much of a gentleman not to share, but she wouldn't take anything while she was on duty.

* * *

Casey looked around the room. Morgan lay on the floor along with all of Bale's henchmen, but both Sarah and Manoosh were crouched down, holding the guns they had fired to trigger Casey's deadly response. Manoosh looked at all the destroyed servers sadly. What a waste. Still, he consoled himself (as he always did), Better than Skynet.

Sarah gave Morgan a nudge and he groaned.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Casey, pulling him to his feet.

Morgan reached up to steady his head. "Somebody must have hit me by accident."

"Whoops," said Manoosh. "My bad."

* * *

"Bale get away?" asked Chuck when they made it back to the ballroom. Carina, relieved of her duty, snagged the last crab cake, which Chuck had chivalrously left for her.

"Yep," said Casey, in a satisfied tone. "Hey, save some for me."

"Wait, you wanted him to escape?" asked Morgan.

Manoosh pushed past to the buffet. "Not a mission parameter."

Sarah pushed through to have a reunion kiss with her husband.

"Neither was ad libbing during Chuck's ad lib," said Morgan, rubbing his shoulder. "I notice that didn't stop you."

"We don't have the authority to arrest him," said Sarah, after her kiss. "We were supposed to return the money, nothing else. Destroying his operation and driving away his investors was just a frill."

"A frill to you, maybe," said Morgan, looking at all the food. "Who's gonna pay for all this?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "I think you'll find when you get beck, that not only has the bill been paid in full, but a generous efficiency bonus was added as a tip."

Morgan smirked, fiddling with his tie. "Well, we are pretty efficient…"

"Then how about you efficiently load the leftovers in our truck, Grimes," said Casey. "I'm getting pretty tired of take-out."

_Take-out? _"You should have said something, Casey. We deliver."

* * *

The next day…

She didn't recognize the number of her phone's screen. That's how she knew who it had to be. "Yes, Agent Charles?" said Diane Beckman.

"I just wanted to tell you, General, that we completed our operation against Roger Bale last night."

"So I read in this morning's society page. I choked on my toast."

_Society page? _Since when did General Beckman have a life? "Our op was running fine until Decker showed up, General, but that's not what I wanted to ask you about."

She liked a team that stood up for itself. "Oh?"

"I wanted to know what we should do about the money."

"Mr. Bartowski, as an agent of the federal government you are obligated to turn over all monies you obtain on a sanctioned operation to your agency's general fund. Your contract with Mr. Woodley was for an estimated four million dollars, yes?"

"Yes, General."

"I'll have Mr. Clark send over the appropriate documents. Dismissed."

"But–" he was talking to the NSA emblem. "I don't think she understands."

Sarah came in, carrying a few reheated entrees from the party as breakfast. "Doesn't understand what, sweetie?"

"She's sending us a bill for four million. That's what Woodley agreed to pay." He took a plate from her.

She sat next to him. "What about the rest?"

He stared at his plate, full of leftovers. "That's the part I don't think she understands."

* * *

"Forty million dollars does not just vanish, Mr. Decker!" said Vivian.

"I know it doesn't, Miss Volkoff," said Decker. "Our forensic accountants gave me a name, a famous hacker called the Piranha. Apparently this is his style."

Vivian caught Carmichael's gaze in the mirror, and he nodded. "Find him," she snapped into her phone. "Make an example of him."

"Gladly," said Decker. "You and Mr. Delgado will be returning, then?"

The car turned into a long driveway, with a large house at the other end. "We're here, Miss Volkoff."

"Not immediately." She closed the connection.

After she and Mr. Delgado got out of the car, Mr. Carmichael took it back to the far end of the driveway, to research _Piranha, The_ in blessed silence.

Delgado pounded on the door, and eventually a scruffy, bleary-eyed man answered it.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. Bale, please," said Vivian.

Roger Bale had had a terrible night. The whole way from the ruins of his business to his bolt-hole, with its new identity prepared, he'd been waiting for someone to pounce. Even as his flight took off he was sure someone would stop it and drag him away. Once he was over International Waters a serious drinking binge began, one which he was paying for now. So he was less than civil to his visitors. "Sorry, no one here by that name." He started to close the door.

Tommy Delgado wasn't used to taking No for an answer. He forced the doorway open wider and stepped through, knocking the former Roger Bale to the ground.

He scrambled backward, unable to get much purchase on his newly-polished floor. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Bale," said Vivian, sweeping in majestically, "I have an offer you simply cannot refuse." She closed the door behind her.

* * *

**A/N2 **Much as I loved Chuck's heroic actions at the end of this episode, I couldn't see a way to use them here. I don't really need to, he's been doing this sort of thing since my last season, really. Zoom didn't have too many hints about Morgan's later problems with the Intersect, but this story has a few for Manoosh, although they might be hard to spot. I also didn't include Decker's monolog from the end, but he's still after Chuck in a different way, and I think this episode ended on a similarly ominous note for someone.


	25. Fish Out of Water

**A/N **Trying to figure out how Manoosh will be changed by the Intersect. Got a lot of options out there.

* * *

"_We have to do something."_

"_The things I have to do."_

"_It's time to do my part."_

"_Make an example of him." _

* * *

Briefing time, in a hole…

"Thirty-six million?" said Casey, just a little boggle-eyed.

A little less. One of the first things Chuck had done was pay both Large Mart and the Buy More for the items they'd had to take earlier. He was no thief, not when he didn't have to be, and even then he preferred to think of it as 'borrowing in advance of payment.' "Yup."

"Not thirty-five, or thirty-seven?"

"Come on, Casey, they're suffering!" said Carina, more used to hanging around with millionaires, with their peculiar worldview. "You can't get a decent room in Monte Carlo for less than thirty-eight. Go ahead, ask me how I know this."

Casey didn't ask. "So what are you going to do with it all, Bartowski?"

"Well, we _were_ going to give it all back," said Sarah, sitting down with a cup of coffee and a donut. They'd already had enough of Morgan's leftovers back at the house, and their base didn't have anything else.

"To who?" asked Carina. "Bale or Limbaugh?" She pinched off a piece of her friend's junk food.

Chuck gave her a sour look. Donut-theft was uncool. "That was sort of the problem. Everybody that Bale stole from this time around got their money back already."

"Only you would call 'getting it done _right_ for a change' a problem, Bartowski," said Casey. "So where'd it all come from? Thirty-six million dollars doesn't just appear out of thin air."

"It didn't," said Chuck. "Unfortunately, once I found out where it came from I still couldn't give it back."

"That bad, huh?"

"Vivian Volkoff. We had no budget for this operation, so I 'borrowed' Manoosh's investment funds from the first person I could think of." And he had Vivian on his mind a lot lately.

"Yeah, that's bad. How'd _you_ get it?"

"I didn't simply take the money, that would have led them back to us. Instead I linked the fake Carmichael Industries account to one of Vivian Volkoff's accounts, and I let Bale take the money from there."

Casey wished he could have seen her face if and more likely when she found out. "I'll bet she loved that."

Chuck frowned. "She wasn't supposed to know, but I really didn't care then and I don't care now. We got the Norseman, that's good, but I still want the person who used it against my sister. I'm not going to let her forget that."

"I'm pretty sure she knows now," said Casey. He nodded. "So if I understand this correctly, you, Manoosh, and Decker playing tug-of-money drained it all from her real account into the fake account of a company that's not supposed to exist." That was a problem, all right. She _would_ look for it, and Carmichael Industries' main defense was that no one was looking for it.

"Can they trace it?" asked Carina.

Chuck looked insulted. "Nobody traces the Piranha!"

Casey whacked him in the head.

"Ow!"

"They don't have to, numb-nuts. When three sets of footprints all go to the same place they only need to follow one."

Chuck grunted. Carmichael Industries was only supposed to be a name on a hole in the ground, to be filled in as quickly as possible once the mission was over, but now they may as well be shooting off flares. _Way to stay out of sight, Bartowski._

Casey recognized a #27 when he heard one. "Roger that." They'd declared war on Vivian, and this would give her a good reason to declare war on them. The General would plotz.

Sarah nodded. "Then the first thing to do is erase all the footprints, without leaving any more. That sounds like a job–"

"Yeah, yeah," said Casey quickly. "Don't finish it, you'll just encourage him."

Sarah smiled at her husband, all the encouragement he needed. "And while he's doing that," she said, after he left, "I'm going to go check on Manoosh. You two stay here and brainstorm ways of handling the fallout in case we're too late."

Casey watched her go. "'Brainstorm', she says." He looked at Carina. "She should be going to Chuck for all that 'out of the box' stuff, not us." They were both breakers and proud of it.

Carina vented a small sigh. "Casey, you do know that 'out of the box' and 'outside the box' mean opposite things, right?"

He looked confused. "They do?"

"Never mind," said Carina, shaking her head. "For this, out of the box will do. We need to get ready for bear. Vivian isn't the type to let bygones be bygones."

Casey dragged over his retroactively-paid-for laptop. "Then it's a good thing we've got a war chest now, isn't it?" he said, logging on to some of his favorite shopping sites. When was the next Weap-Con, anyway?

* * *

Somewhere, a broad…

"Well, Mr. Decker?" said Vivian Volkoff as Carmichael drove them back to the airport. "What have you discovered about this so-called Piranha person?"

"He's supposed to be a ghost, probably male, probably American," said Decker, fuming. "In all other respects, completely untraceable, or so our pet geeks say. Even worse than the Octopus."

Nothing was untraceable. Nothing could be allowed to be untraceable. "You found nothing in the system you were in last night?"

"I couldn't even get into that system today. It doesn't appear to be running anymore."

No lies so far. "It wouldn't be, according to our informant," said Vivian. "He was quite forthcoming, your Mr. Delgado was most helpful in that regard. According to him, numerous men with automatic weapons broke into his vault and engaged in a gun battle, completely destroying his computers."

"Convenient." And time-consuming. They'd have to get the cores, if they could, without exposing themselves.

"You think he lied?"

"To Tommy?"

That was a 'No'. "You think this Piranha person got away with it, don't you? In spite of everything." There was a lot of everything he got it done in spite of, too.

"He's one of the few who can, according to his legend," said Decker sourly, conveying his opinion of anecdotal evidence of this sort. "But if it is him, he's changing his style. His reputation is for being a bit of a joker, not malicious at all."

_Ah!_ No one hunted him because no one cared. That just changed. "Forty million is no joke."

"It might have been, if the FBI hadn't stepped on his punchline."

Vivian hit the mute button. "Mr. Delgado, your knife please." She unmuted. "Mr. Decker, listen to this." She held out the phone, and Tommy pressed the button on the knife, releasing the blade with a _snik!_ She put the phone to her ear again as Tommy put his toy away regretfully. "That is the sound of me not being amused."

Decker knew that sound, and he loved it. "What about Agent Charles?"

Oh. Him. "You have set the hounds upon him, correct?"

"Every agency I can contact knows he has the Norseman now."

"Then let them run him to ground. We must deal with the Piranha ourselves. At once."

* * *

Back in the bunker…

The interview could have gone better. Sarah made the call.

"Still with the headaches?" asked Ellie.

Sarah kept her voice low as she walked away from Manoosh's room. "Yeah, and tired as well. I was wondering if we should send him back to the lab, let you try the scanner on him again."

"No, don't do that," said Ellie quickly. "I'll send it for repairs, via Archer's Shipping."

Sarah grimaced. Frost's favorite shipping company, back when she was trapped in Russia. Nothing sent through them ever arrived at its stated destination, nothing they delivered was ever sent from the declared point of origin. A shipper of last resort, when you absolutely, positively, had to get…something…somewhere. "What's going on, Ellie?"

"A lot," sighed Ellie. "Diane expected the ruckus would have settled down by now, but something seems to be keeping the DoD awake at night, and Manoosh is the last person we want them to get hold of. Just keep him out in the field, as long as you can."

"Will do," said Sarah. _Somehow._

* * *

A few days later…

"An invitation to _what_?" asked Chuck.

"SAFE," said Casey, turning his laptop around to show the banner. "The Security and Firearms Exposition. Basically it's a trade show for mercenaries. They make demonstrations, pitch to prospective clients, check out the latest non-classified gear, all that sort of stuff. About the only thing they don't do is try to steal each others' employees."

Sarah seemed skeptical. "That sort of thing is frowned upon?"

"Nah, they do it every other day of the year, so it's sort of a mini-vacation not to."

"A room full mercs and the people who would need or want to hire mercs?" asked Carina. "How'd _we _get an invite?"

Casey turned his laptop back around. "They may have heard about our stellar success, liberating funds from a certain Ponzi schemer."

"One mission and we're in?" Now Chuck was the skeptical one. "How respectable is this gig?"

"Well, one mission, and not a lot of representatives qualified to sit on the cyber-security panel, and _mumble-mumble-mumble_ they made an exception."

"What was that last part?" asked Sarah.

"They made an exception?" said Casey, looking all innocent-like.

"Uh-uh," said Carina, coming around the table to get in his face. "Before that."

"You mean the part about _cough-cough_ Industries?"

"What about Carmichael Industries?" asked Chuck.

Casey gathered up his papers and closed his laptop. "Well, apparently there are rumors," he said briskly, standing up. "Now I have to go make sure my suit is pressed, I suggest you do the same. Wouldn't do to make a bad impression."

"But…" Chuck was talking to a closed door. He looked at the two ladies. "Help…"

* * *

At the event...

"No relation at all," said Chuck, barely inside the door. "In fact, I doubt there could be, given the CIA's penchant for code names and aliases. Just a crazy random happenstance." _Casey, I'm going to kill you…_

"Well," said the event coordinator, disappointed, "Since this is your first appearance on our program, let me acquaint you with the setup for your presentation." He led them to the stage, and the array of technology that had been deployed. All of it had been specified in their contract, so they, like the other presenters, could create their displays accordingly. Chuck and Manoosh absorbed it like sponges, while Sarah scrutinized the stage area for vulnerabilities.

"Oh, and one more thing," said the coordinator apologetically. "This hall will be filled with people for whom security is an obsession, and the natural assumption is that our presenters are deadly in their fields, otherwise why be here at all. You all are unknown quantities–" he looked at Manoosh dubiously "–so I would recommend that you move as little as possible. Let your video do the moving."

* * *

On the stage...

"Good evening, my name is Charles Carmichael–no relation," Chuck smiled, as if he hadn't been making the same tired joke all day. _Casey, I'm going to kill you…_ "And I have one question for you." He scanned the room, all four quadrants, just like Devon said.

"Have you ever had to retrieve stolen assets, with your team literally under the gun and the enemy at the gates?" Enhanced video footage lit up the screen, a dim computer room full of silhouettes, people struggling and guns firing, a timer in the corner running up the milliseconds while a progress bar moved across the bottom. A burst of automatic weapon fire destroyed all the machines, and stopped the clock at a very low number, but the bar was at 100%. "We have." He stepped back, slowly and non-threateningly.

Manoosh stepped forward, a bit too fast but no one in the room took him to be any kind of a threat. "Have you ever had to scan the bitcode of an indefinite number of files, distill it to a series of possible coordinates, and map the Earth to find a safe house where an agent has gone to ground?" On the screen, meaningless numbers streamed by, resolving into meaningless coordinates. A representation of the Earth spun by, with meaningless dots of red all over it. The important part was the satellite imagery, more realistic than any CGI because it was real, a sequence of images taken as a satellite passed over a safe house in England that no longer existed. "We have." He stepped back too.

Sarah walked forward from the shadows, stiletto heels tapping as her night-black catsuit moved into the light. She practically screamed 'threat' but no one cared, because, well…"And if we have to, with that information, we _will_ get your man, whether he's in a nightclub–" The ruined interior of the Soco Na Garganta appeared on the monitor "–on a train–" A helicopter shot of a mountain in Japan, littered with wreckage "–or hiding in the jungles of Southeast Asia." No image lit the screen for that one, but from the muttering of the audience, none was needed.

The screen flashed the Carmichael Industries logo, and Chuck said, "Thank you."

The lights went down, and the team walked off the stage, clearing the way for the next group of presenters. Chuck stepped down and raised a hand for Sarah to hold as she followed, a gesture both chivalrous and, with those heels, practical. Manoosh made it to the first step before he realized that the monitor control was still in his hand, so he turned around and went back to put it on the table.

The lights went out.

Manoosh turned, and saw dots of red all over the audience. Targeting lights! "Chuck!" Dark shapes dropped from the ceiling, men rappelling down all around him! He flashed.

The men and women in the audience listened to what sounded like a herd of elephants, blind elephants, trying to cross the stage in the dark.

The lights came up again.

Manoosh stood stage left, three men in full tactical gear crumpled on the stage around him. Chuck stood center stage, two more men behind him and holding a woman in a half-nelson, grappling for her gun. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shouted at him.

He recognized that voice, and let go. "Gertrude?"

She turned, aimed her gun, and stared at him. At Manoosh. Back at him, and she safed her weapon. "You?"

"Yes," said Chuck quickly. "Charles Carmichael, Carmichael Industries. Doing, uh, like you said. Testing the, uh, waters, so to speak." He looked at her men, littering the stage, then out at the audience. At Sarah, still waiting by the stairs. He offered Gertrude a weak smile. "Sorry?"

* * *

Later, back at the bunker...

Chuck held his head in his hands. "I didn't know! How was I supposed to know?" he said. "They told us we weren't supposed to move! Why'd they let _her_ move?"

Casey turned around in his stomping and stomped back. "I don't know, Bartowski, because she's been doing this _for twenty years_, maybe, and they're used to the kind of shows she puts on?" He turned around and stomped away again. "Didn't you even look at the program?"

"No, sorry, we were busy pirating video at the last minute."

"_I_ was fudging the details," said Manoosh.

"_A_ mission, we needed," said Casey. "'A' as in 'one'. One mission. Not every mission."

"We can't do every mission," said Sarah.

Heh. "They're gonna think you can. You at least look the part, but _these_ are the jokers who beat five-to-two odds."

"But not six-to-two, didn't anybody notice that?" asked Chuck. He flopped back against the chair. "I told them to use her if they needed manpower."

"Quantity over quality, Chuckles?"

"No! Equal quality, just…more of it."

"Making Gertrude Verbanski look like a charity case." There went their range-date tonight, and tomorrow she'd be going back to Dresden, and God only knew when she'd want to see him again after that. "Bartowski, you couldn't have screwed this up worse if you'd tried."

"So now it's you who's calling 'getting it done _right_ for a change' a problem?" asked Carina.

_Nuts! _"Too much is just as bad as too little, Miller, or didn't they teach you that at spy school?"

Chuck hid his eyes. "Oh, God, Casey, did you have to say that?"

"What?"

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Carina, tossing her hair and looking prim. "That kind of banter is beneath me."

"Just like–" Casey clenched his considerable clenching muscles. "Nope, not gonna say it."

Carina smirked as he walked away, until her attention was drawn to a whispered, "Wow." Both Chuck and Manoosh were looking at her with something like awe. "Hmm?"

"Did you just upgrade and downgrade your banter at the same time, in the same sentence?" asked Chuck.

She faked a curtsey. "You noticed!"

Manoosh swallowed heavily. "Marry me."

* * *

A few days later...

"I don't get it, Chuck," said Manoosh, looking at the music rack. "We had them eating out of our hands, we could have the best of the best."

"We don't want the best of the best, Manoosh," said Chuck, over in the home electronics section. "Too high-profile. We're a small company, I mean a small team, on a training mission. Your training. Leave the high-end clients to the high-end vendors, like Verbanski."

Manoosh gave the rack a good hard spin. "I just don't understand why you're always caving to that knuckle-dragger."

Chuck jerked his head up in surprise. "That what?"

"Hey, Graboid," said Dirtnap. "Potential client has just entered the Buy More."

Chuck looked at the entrance but he must have just missed him. "No contact."

"He was told to wait in the movie section."

Chuck turned his head, and saw one man standing there, looking perfunctorily at the DVDs on sale. "Got him." Then he saw Manoosh, sailing through the air with his fist out, like a living missile. "Oh no."

With a loud thud that only Chuck seemed to hear, fist met chin, and both Manoosh and their prospective client dropped out of sight. Chuck ran to the other section, ready to perform damage control, but the only people in the aisle were Manoosh and his target.

Right. This was a Buy More.

"Manoosh, this is our client," he said to the younger man. "What were you thinking?"

"Look at what he was checking out," said Manoosh, holding up a DVD case.

"Oh my god," said Chuck, appalled. "Lady in the Water?"

"Exactly. I had no choice."

"Graboid," said Casey suddenly. "Have you made contact?"

Chuck stuck his head up, looking for exits. "That's an affirmative, Dirtnap," he said, checking to make sure the unconscious man at his feet was still breathing. "Unfortunately."

* * *

**A/N2 **I'm turning S5 upside-down, hoping some funny falls out. The tumbleweed in the Buy More was the only joke I've seen so far, rewatching the episode.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N** The actual mission in Bearded Bandit was next to irrelevant, so I don't imagine I'll need to change anything in that regard.

* * *

"_I'll bet she loved that."_

"_That is the sound of me not being amused."_

"_We _will_ get your man."_

"_That's an affirmative." _

* * *

"What's that smell?" asked Casey, holding the door as Chuck and Manoosh carried their prospective client into the room. They knocked him out, they could carry him.

"Hey, Goliath, we could use a hand here," said Manoosh, struggling to hold both legs at once.

"What, you want applause now?"

"I'd settle for an aspirin."

Sarah caught that as she came into the room from the other side. "Casey, take his legs. Put him in the conference room." Also known as the break room, and the war room, and the only room in the bunker able to hold more than two people who weren't very comfortable with each other. "Manoosh, let's go get you some painkiller."

"Bring back some smelling salts," said Chuck.

"Speaking of smells…?" said Casey again, lifting up the dropped legs.

"Carina's baking," said Sarah, and then she was gone.

Chuck and Casey stared at each other. "You know, that sounded like English," said Casey. "One of our new code phrases, maybe?"

Chuck took a breath to answer, but somehow he had no words to say, so he smiled apologetically and shook his head. They trudged into the break room and dropped the guy into a chair. Carina was standing at the other end of the room, by a little stove that barely fit in the space. She had on an apron and cute little oven mitts, with flour in her hair and batter on her cheek.

Chuck looked her over. "Maybe it's just as well our client's unconscious."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Baking?" asked Casey.

"Trying to," said Carina, unhappily. "I'm thinking maybe I got the big T and the little T mixed up."

"What are you making?" asked Chuck. He'd done some baking, maybe he could–

"Oat bran muffins."

Or maybe not. "No one eats those."

"I do," muttered Casey.

"Davis does," said Carina. "I want to surprise him."

"I think you will," said Chuck, and Carina to glare at him. He raised his arms defensively. "Just that you tried is a surprise."

"Better go with that," said Casey. He pointed at the short, solid disks lying on the rack. "Those are not muffins."

"You think I don't know that, Casey," she snapped at him, pointing an oven mitt threateningly. "I'm gonna use them for target practice later, though, so hands off." Just then the little oven bell dinged, and she took out a second tray. "Ha!"

"Those look better," said Casey.

"Yeah, well, the good thing about the little T is that you can always add more." She put the muffins in one of Morgan's leftover leftover boxes, and handed it to Casey. "Here."

"Aren't you gonna give them to your boy–"

"Casey!"

"–friend?"

"Of course not, these are for practice." She pushed the box against his chest and let go when his hands came up automatically to support it. "I'll give him the good ones."

"Great, thanks," said Chuck, peering into the box. "_Practice_ bran muffins."

"Look at this way, Bartowski," said Casey, "Worst comes to worst, we can just hit our client over the head with one when it's time to take him back out."

"Save a fortune in tranq darts," mused Chuck. "You think we could get him to eat one?"

Carina sniffed, as she loaded up her cart to take all her stuff out of their conference room. "Keep it up and I won't make anything for _your_ birthday."

Casey slid the box onto the table. "Promise?"

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski stalked through the main floor on the way to her office, but none of her employees had the nerve to bother her about anything more trivial than an invasion, if they'd had one scheduled, which they didn't. So no one bothered her.

The doors didn't slam, either. No great display of self-control on her part, she'd had them designed that way. She was a slammer when she was upset, and she never wanted her employees, or worse yet her clients, to see her upset.

She ignored all the displays around her, her trophies and treasures, personally taken from her defeated opponents. Losers, all of them.

She stopped in front of the last case, the smallest display. 'Taken from John Casey, Minsk, 1995', the plaque said. _Good to see you, John._

Not that she'd seen him so far this trip, or gotten a chance to talk to him, say anything. She'd hoped to see that special look in his eyes, part fear, part lust, and partly that special 'you took my gun' hint of annoyance. The baby. He'd gotten away with her knife, but she didn't bitch about that the way he went on about this.

_I missed you, John. _'Cold and harsh' just wasn't the same without someone special to share it with. When she heard his team would be part of this year's SAFE, she left Dresden with her SIC and made herself part of the show. Once they dropped in on his team's display, that hint of annoyance would have–should have–ramped up nicely, boding well for things to come. Except they didn't. Come, that is.

John wasn't there but that little geek with the remote was, and he spoiled everything. Saw the lights from the stage and called a warning. And what was that all about? Didn't they read the program?

Not that all the warning in the world should have meant anything in the face of six-to-one odds. She wouldn't even have minded if Charles had taken down a _few_ of her men. Let him get some good exposure, do a favor for a friend. Instead, somehow Agent Charles defeated all her men and almost defeated her, making her look bad in front of all her prospective clients, and through her, the entire company.

And then what? 'Sorry?' Like he'd made a bad move in a kid's game?

This was no game. This was her life, and the lives of all the men and women who depended on her to have plans as clear as all these acrylic display cases, leading them into the fire and bringing them out again on the other side.

She touched the gun, still a weapon being used against her, even out of John's hands. She'd gotten sentimental. Sloppy, and the mere fact that there were no lives on the line this time was no excuse. She'd failed her team's trust, failed to anticipate the vagaries of war and secure her LZ, even for a dummy incursion like that one.

They should have been ready to tranq the geek. Lesson learned. Point one in her after-action report. Point two, actually. With their asses kicked that bad, point one had to be an apology for her poor leadership. She hated to make those.

Agent Charles had proven himself a challenge, and her laxness allowed him to become a threat to Verbanskicorp's leading role in the private security market. If he wanted to play in the private sector, she'd play, all right, and John would just have to watch his back.

She turned her back on the trophy, leaving John behind her, where he would have to remain. Lesson learned.

* * *

"Where's Chuck?" asked Carina.

"We're out of painkiller," said Sarah absently, her attention on the board and her earpiece. "So Chuck and Manoosh are going to the store to get some more after they drop off Mr. Sneijder, while Casey is scouting the safehouse they've got Karl's brother stashed away in."

The first part, that Chuck had managed to find the safe house already, didn't surprise Carina in the least. The second part, on the other hand…"Casey? Scouting?" She looked at the overheads, but the trees obscured the perimeter, and the rear of the house was inaccessible. The dot that indicated Casey's position was nowhere near the only road in, but it was close to the house, and Casey didn't do 'close' all that well.

"It's hunting season."

* * *

The altercation drew more and more guards to see what the noise was about.

"Look, imbecile, ducks are wetland animals," said the guard on perimeter duty.

Casey kept his face blank. "So?"

"Does this look like a wetland to you? We're in the hills!"

"Oh." Casey blew on his duck-call, looking around. He'd seen a dozen guards already, no way they'd get in by the front door. "So, no ducks here, then?"

The guard pointed down the hill. "That way."

"Oh," said Casey again, and he smiled at the guard. "Thanks."

* * *

Sarah shrugged. "It's not like he could drag around a moose."

"Only Casey," said Carina, shaking her head.

"He's just bumbling around, it's not like they're going to take him prisoner," said Sarah. "That would bring exactly the attention they want to avoid."

"Still wouldn't mind seeing Casey act like an idiot," said Carina. "On purpose, that is." She pointed back the way she came. "Uh, we just got a package, lots of electronics."

Sarah rewound the conversation in her head. Oh. "That's not for Chuck, that's for Manoosh. Ellie sent the scanner so we wouldn't have to bring him into the lab. Go set it up, would you? Put the sensors above and below his berth. Ellie doesn't want him to know."

"I don't want me to know, either," said Carina. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" asked Sarah. "You're just as qualified to insert tab A into slot B as Chuck is."

That sounded like the sort of thing she used to say. "Eww!"

"'Eww' what?"

"In Manoosh's bedroom?"

_Eww._ "Could be worse."

"How?"

"Manoosh could be there."

* * *

"Sorry about the whole 'Lady in the Water' thing, Chuck," said Manoosh, as they stocked up on junk food, in addition to the painkiller. "Really, if it had been any other movie–"

"I understand, Manoosh," said Chuck, selecting a couple of boxes of Hot Pockets for Casey. "I've seen it too."

"You know, like, um, Spiderman!" Manoosh held up his hands, middle fingers down in the classic pose. "Peter Parker, high school kid, amazing superpowers–"

Chuck pushed his hands down before the cashier saw them in the mirror. "That he had to learn how to use. Preferably without getting Uncle Ben or any other member of his immediate team-slash-family killed."

"No one's gonna get killed," said Manoosh dismissively. "That's the great thing about the Intersect, it's all plug and play." He started making all sorts of fighting gestures.

Chuck pulled him behind an end-cap. "Watch what you're doing, Manoosh," he said, as the bell on the front door chimed. "That lady at the desk can see us."

Manoosh looked at the mirror. "Uh, no, Chuck, I don't think she can." He pointed.

Chuck looked in the mirror, saw a man with a shotgun pointing it at the cashier. He turned back. "Manoosh…"

The young nerd had his shirt pulled up over his nose. "Wish me luck," he said and he whipped around the corner into the main aisle. Chuck peeked out, and saw Manoosh running down the aisle, accelerating his smaller mass into a missile of destruction. Reflexively, Chuck turned and took a different aisle to the same goal.

If the robber noticed Manoosh he probably dismissed him as a threat as readily as everyone else did, until Manoosh launched himself into the air. Then the man tried to bring his gun around, but it was far too late. Manoosh's feet caught him under the arm, knocking the man to the ground, his head making an audible _thump!_ Manoosh waited, but the guy didn't get up again, and he flourished his hands with a grin. "Spiderman!" He turned to check the cashier, standing there looking boggle-eyed. "Are you okay?"

"_Malocchia! Malocchia!_" shouted the woman behind the counter, looking at his hands. She dropped down, and popped up again with a box of salt in her hand, and she threw some in Manoosh's face.

"Hey!" he said, holding up his hands, but it was too late. He backed away, blinking a lot, as she threw more salt at him.

The robber blinked his eyes, and saw his attacker backing away, distracted. He reached for his gun and stood, drawing a bead on the little guy who knocked him down.

Chuck reached out as the criminal fired, jerking the barrel up even as Manoosh's feet slipped on the grains of salt and he went down. The shot took out a store display and made a mess, but nothing more fatal than that. Chuck knocked the gunman out as Manoosh got back to his feet.

"Yeah!" said Manoosh, throwing his arms in the air. "That's what I'm talking about! You and me, a pair of real superheroes. Spiderman, and, and, the _other_ Spiderman!"

Chuck polished his fingerprints off the gun. "Hey, I'm the original, you're the clone. Remember that, 'Ben'."

"It's 'Joe', isn't it?" asked Manoosh, as lights started flashing outside. The police, responding to the alarm.

"Joe was the second Scarlet Spider," said Chuck, putting the gun on the desk. He pointed to the back of the store, and the lady at the counter watched as they ran off, Chuck's voice trailing away. "And why would you want to be him, anyway, he was a bad guy. Once we get back to base you really have to brush up on your Spiderman history…"

She threw another handful of salt, just in case.

* * *

Sarah threw a blown-up still from the store's security footage onto the table in front of them. The image of Manoosh was kind of blurry, and his hands were covering his face. "Explain."

Manoosh looked down at the paper. "What's to explain?" he asked. "She was a damsel in distress, I was a hero in disguise."

"You hooked your shirt over your nose," said Casey. "And it looks like she's the one attacking you."

"It was just a misunderstanding! What was I supposed to do, let that thug rob the store?"

"Yes!" said Casey. "The last thing any of us need, especially you, is for Carmichael Industries to appear on anyone's radar any more than it already has. This could have been a ploy meant to pull us out into the open."

"According to Ellie," added Sarah, "Something is keeping the search for us alive. Until we get the all-clear from the General, any and all 'events' that happen to take place in your vicinity have to be taken with a grain of salt."

Manoosh brushed at his shirt. "Fine. There," he said, as a few grains of salt fell onto the table.

Casey pushed himself away from the table. "Nuts!"

Carina went to a closet and brought back a dustpan. "Don't worry, guys. Plenty of opportunities for superheroing where we're going," she said. "As soon as you clean up your last mess."

* * *

"But why can't we make the climb?" asked Manoosh. The cliff face was vertical, but not shear, and he and Chuck should have been able to scramble to the top in seconds.

"No damsels to rescue, Galahad," said Casey. "The rest of us don't have the Intersect, so we have to do it the hard way, unless you plan to be there for every little thing we need to have done, for the rest of our lives."

_Every_ little thing? "I…don't think so," said Manoosh.

_Heh. _"Neither did I," said Casey, looping the rope around his shoulders. "So stand back and stop trying to weaken us to death." As the largest person on the team, he was the natural counterweight for the climber, in this case Sarah. Carina was lighter, but she had a more important job to do, and she raised her crossbow to do it. The quarrels weren't exactly standard issue, but they'd anchor in the rock and support Sarah's weight, and most important of all they'd do it silently.

Chuck and Manoosh stood back as Sarah began her ascent, enthralled by the athletic blonde. "Dude, you are the luckiest guy on the planet," said Manoosh.

"I know," murmured Chuck.

"I mean, after all the kidnaps and torture, you get to come home to _that_."

"Yeah," said Chuck, deadpan, "I'm a lucky guy, all right."

"You guys know I can hear you, right?" said Sarah.

She was most of the way up when Carina's crossbow made a different sound as she fired the next bolt into the stone. "Dammit," she muttered, bending to get a new, thicker string.

Sarah couldn't hear it but Chuck did, not that it made any difference. He couldn't yell up the cliff face to her without giving their position away, and she was already reaching for–

"Bartowski, don't!" said Casey.

The shaft pulled out of the stone, leaving her dangling by one hand as Casey hauled back to take her weight. Even with him holding her, if she lost her grip, the sudden acceleration down could very easily pull all of the other bolts out as she fell.

Manoosh took off, scrambling up the cliff face with ease. By the time Carina had a new string on her bow, he was near to Sarah, and he grabbed her hand, so she wouldn't swing. Her feet found toeholds.

Carina fired, and the bolt sank into the stone above their joined hands. Manoosh pulled Sarah's hand up so she could grab the shaft. "You got it?"

"Yeah," said Sarah breathlessly. "Thanks." She found her rope and looped it through the carabiner.

"My–my–" Manoosh blinked. "Come on, what are we waiting for?" He resumed his climb, not trying to outdistance her, just in case.

Sarah watched him go, started climbing after him. "Nothing."

* * *

By the time Sarah reached the top of the cliff Manoosh was fidgeting. BY the time she tied off the rope so the others could climb, he was gone. Fortunately Chuck didn't need the rope any more than Manoosh did. "You need to find him, Chuck," Sarah said urgently. "Something's wrong, I know it is."

"But–?"

"Get moving, Bartowski," said Casey as he climbed. "You find you spider…clone…war…guy. Let the professionals do the real work."

Chuck backed away from the multi-layered badness of that order. "Going now." He ran up the path, listening for any sign of Manoosh being Manoosh, until he practically tripped over an unconscious guard. Further down the path, he spotted a gun, and a hand not reaching for it. He followed the trail of guards to the noise, and the noise into the house.

"–punch you in the head, kick you in the nuts–"

Around the corner and there was Manoosh by another door, with several unconscious guards on the floor around him and another ready to join them.

Suddenly an alarm rang, not that any of them needed to hear it. Manoosh must have flashed, his eyes rolling white, but the last guard took advantage and knocked him out. Chuck returned the favor, and he was alone. No one else seemed to be coming to answer the alarm.

He lifted his watch to his lips. "Sarah?"

"Chuck!" she called, from the other side of the door, and he forced it open. "It's a setup! Karl lied. He just wanted to get his brother back before he could testify. This is a WitSec safe house."

Chuck looked at the pile of guards. "Oh." Manoosh's crumpled form. "Um…" At Karl's brother, his wounded hand wrapped in bandages, his eyes angry and accusing. "Sorry?"

* * *

**A/N2 **The Malocchia is better known as the Evil Eye, and salt is one of many counters. It is represented by a hand gesture very similar to the way Spiderman held his hands when shooting his webs. I wonder if the guys at Marvel knew that when they came up with it.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N **Filling in the gaps around the stuff they did in canon. It's so easy to just cut away in a TV show for dramatic effect, but even then you have to give some thought to how thet stuff you don't show could have happened, otherwise you get people like me coming and saying that makes no sense. Most of what I did with S4 was fixing problems like that. Here I have no problems with what they showed, I just don't see a lot of value in redoing it, so I'm showing something else.

* * *

"_We're out of painkiller."_

"_No one's gonna get killed."_

"_I was a hero in disguise."_

"_Something's wrong." _

* * *

Manoosh awoke, feeling like elephants, blind ones, were tripping all over themselves inside his skull. His body ached all over, too, like he'd been in a fight, which he could remember a lot of, so that was all right. Lots of guards, lots of flashes. So many flashes, like he couldn't stop himself. No wonder his head hurt.

That last guy was on the ropes, though, so how did he get knocked out?

"Hello," he said, just in case someone might be nearby. The way his voice sounded gave him the idea that he was in a small room, and the surface he was lying on felt too familiar, so he opened his eyes a bit.

His bunk in the bunker, with the lights out, thank God for that. Without moving his head or body more than he had to, he reached to the side and found a glass of water in the usual place. He lowered his hand and found the pills Sarah had left for him. There just weren't any words good enough for her, not even 'babe', which was the most stellar compliment he knew. He'd never met any women who were so beyond 'babe' before, and here they he'd found a bunch all in one place.

Chuck was so lucky.

Manoosh sat up so he could take the pills. The Intersect was good but it didn't have any techniques for drinking sideways, not that he wanted to try flashing on them if it did.

* * *

Sarah was just settling down at the table with a cup of coffee and a piece of one of Carina's bran muffins when her phone went off. "What's up, Ellie?"

"Manoosh is awake," said Doctor, nowhere near them but keeping her brother's team under her watchful gaze all the same. Manoosh had programmed the scanner's alerts himself.

Sarah considered changing Ellie's call sign from Doctor to Mama Bear. "How does he look?" Electronically, that is. Doctor couldn't see him any other way.

"Not good," said Ellie. "Go get me a visual, please." Sarah had refused to put monitors in Manoosh's room, wanting him to feel like a team member and not an outpatient, so the job of tracking her asset's physical state had fallen to her.

Fortunately Manoosh's berth wasn't all that far from the main room, nothing was in a base that small. He responded when she knocked and winced when she opened the door. She left the lights off and checked him out in the light from the hall. "How are you feeling?"

"Headache," he said unnecessarily. She'd already noticed the pills were gone and she doubted that he put them back in the bottle. "Sore."

"Can you stand?"

He jumped to his feet. "Do we have another mission?"

Sarah put her hands on his shoulders, gently, in case he had some reflexive reaction to her touch. He hadn't shown any signs yet but he hadn't done as much flashing in one day before. "No, I just wanted to see if you could stand." She pulled him around slightly. "Look at me."

He was looking into her eyes as she looked at his, so he noticed her frown. "Something wrong?"

Sarah had her spy face on. "A little bloodshot," she replied in mild understatement. "You mind if I take a few pictures for Ellie?" She asked him every so often, whether she needed to or not, in case some day she might need to.

"Go ahead," he said, as he always did.

"Thanks," she said, as usual, and proceeded to take some pictures, perhaps more than she often did, but a bit less than she sometimes did. He did climb a cliff barehanded, and barefooted, after all. When she was done, she said, "If you want to come out, we've got some stale donuts, some specially aged leftover leftovers from Morgan's restaurant, or some of Carina's delicious homemade bran muffins."

He considered his options. "You mind if I just stay here for a while instead?"

"Not at all," she said, relieved he suggested it himself. "We have a meeting with the client, later, if you're feeling up to it."

He sat back down on his bunk. "You mean the guy I hit?" Not that he was trying to hit him, he was going after the DVD, but he didn't expect the guy to move, either. Come on, even Chuck made mistakes.

"He doesn't hold it against you, if that's what you're worried about," said Sarah. "And anyway it'll be an online meeting. He's got some explaining to do."

* * *

Manoosh surfaced again to the sound of voices in the other room. The conference call must still be going on, he hadn't managed to sleep through it after all. Oh, well. Time to face the music. He got up and dressed himself for a meeting, then walked to the door to the big room.

"–supposed to extract Wesley and turn him over," said the man on the screen as Manoosh walked in, his face hard and unfriendly.

"Our clients are supposed to not lie to _us_," said Carina.

"Carina, ix-nay on the ark-snay," said Chuck under his breath.

"We're not kidnappers," said Sarah over both of them, "Nor are we legally constituted authorities. Once we were…misled into disabling Mr. Sneijder's security team, we had no way to force him to go anywhere."

"You took him with _you_."

Sarah shook her head, curls bouncing. "He _chose_ to come with us when we explained the situation, after he was exposed–"

"By a much smaller force, I might add," said Casey smugly.

"Not helping," Chuck muttered, then he raised his voice. "The point is he doesn't want to get turned over to the man who cut his finger off, for which I at least do not blame him."

"I don't care what his choice is now," said the man on the screen. "I care about his choice to testify in the first place. You will turn him over to me or I will send my men into whatever hole you've found and dig you all out, and I promise you, you won't enjoy that."

"Do your worst," said Casey, stabbing a finger down on the call button, breaking the connection.

"Casey…!" Chuck gestured at the blank screen.

Casey rotated his chair, turning his back on the screen and everyone who wasn't on it. "Zip it, Bartowski, it's not like we haven't heard it all before."

"Who the hell was _that_ guy?" asked Manoosh.

Chuck spun in his chair, his face lighting up. "Hey, Manoosh, how you feeling, buddy?" He held up his fist.

Manoosh bumped fists as Sarah said, "That was Wesley Sneijder's contact in Witness Protection. Those were his men you took out."

"All by yourself, I might add," said Chuck, giving Manoosh's fist bump an extra finger-flutter for awesomeness.

"Not helping," Casey muttered.

"What about the meeting with his brother, the client?"

"We had that already," said Carina, buttering her own muffin. "Strangely enough, it wasn't all that different."

"That might work out for us, though," said Chuck. "If they both get here at the same time, Dick Tracy up there can arrest Karl and we're all home free."

"Or," said Sarah, turning the idea into something more pro-active, "We could arrange a handoff with Karl and let the marshals catch them in the act."

Manoosh nodded. "Good plan. Can we make it happen?" He looked around. "Where's Wesley, anyway?"

* * *

Somewhere out and about in DC…

"How does your hand feel?"

Wesley Sneijder looked at his hand, he certainly couldn't feel it. "Still numb." The doctor she'd taken him to see had anesthetized the whole thing before checking it out, repairing the stitches, whatever he'd had to do. Even the bandaging looked better.

The whole time, Wesley had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. "Do I know you?"

"I doubt it, dude," said the doctor. "But you're wearing my pants."

Wesley looked down. "Your pants?"

"Abercrombie &amp; Fitch Cargo Sport. I used to model them. Paid my tuition, back in college." He smiled brightly. "Those were the days." The rest of the visit passed in a blur of modeling talk, most of which Wesley tuned out.

Now, he flexed his remaining fingers, nothing seemed to be pulling. "Okay, I guess. Where are we going?"

"A secure place where your brother will never find us, until we get the all clear. After that, wherever you want to go, I guess." He was her first time on a protective detail, and under the circumstances, she couldn't really call anyone and ask.

"You're not gonna turn me over to the FBI?" They'd introduced her as an agent.

"Do you want me to?"

"No." He'd probably have to go back to Witness Protection, but with Karl locked up it should be a lot safer.

"How about, do you want to go to the best restaurant in the city for dinner? You like crab cakes? My boyfriend makes stellar crab cakes."

* * *

Back in the hole…

"Need I remind you," said Casey, "That the marshals catching _them_ in the act is also the marshals catching _us_ in the act–"

"And there are some acts even I don't want to get caught in," said Carina, licking the butter from her fingers. "Especially not with Casey." She winked at him. "No offense."

Casey shuddered, making a distressed moan that might have been a grunt in other circumstances. "Can we just go after Karl ourselves, please?"

"With what army, Casey?" asked Chuck. "It's not like we can just call General Beckman whenever we want."

"Who says we even need an army, Bartowski?" asked Casey. "So far all we've seen is tall, dark, and finger-happy. Maybe he's just talking a good game."

"Given his connections, I prefer to err on the side of caution."

Casey leaned forward, his knuckles on the table as he loomed. "Well _I_ prefer to err on the side of good intel."

_Knuckles. _"So let's get some," said Manoosh. "Chuck and I can check his place out without him ever knowing we were there."

Everybody looked at everybody else, trying not to make it look like it was Sarah they were taking their cues from. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Manoosh?" asked Chuck.

"You did do a lot of flashing yesterday," added Carina.

"He's vertical and he's volunteering, isn't he?" snapped Casey, and Sarah fixed him with a fierce glare. "But, uh, I guess maybe we could check with Doctor before we risk it."

"What risk?" asked Manoosh. He waved back and forth between himself and Chuck. "You've got a simple recon job and two Intersects to do it. It's a piece of cake."

Casey made a face. "The Intersect is a lot better at getting people into trouble than it is at getting them out of it. Two Intersects at the same time…?" He shuddered again.

"On the other hand, said Chuck, "Someone did just use the word cake, and that reminds me that none of us have had dinner yet. You can call Ellie if you think you have to, while we satisfy Manoosh's craving for adventure with a food run. I don't know about you, but I can't storm anyone's castle on an empty stomach."

Manoosh had eaten even less. "Well, I suppose I could go for a nice MLT."

"MLT?" asked Casey. "What's that?"

"A mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich," explained Chuck.

"Where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe," said Manoosh, his hand gestures indicating the leanness and the ripeness. "They're so perky,"

Chuck pointed at his fellow nerd. "He loves that."

He wasn't alone. "That does sound good," said Casey. "Get me one while you're at it."

* * *

Later, in the car...

"Mutton?" asked Manoosh, as he drove to the store, with Chuck for company. "In DC?"

Chuck paused in his typing. "I'm not sure if we just pulled one over on him, or if he just pulled one over on us."

"I'm betting on us," said Manoosh, meaning 'us the puller overers' and not 'us the pulled over ons'. "What are you writing?"

"First draft of a report for that WitSec guy, you know they're gonna want to know how we got their guy out." Not like they needed another pissed-off government agency chasing after them, either.

"So you're just gonna cave, and tell them?"

"It's not like they're the enemy, Manoosh, and if it keeps the next witness safe, why not?" said Chuck with a frown. "And besides, they'd just escalate it to Beckman, so why force it?" He sort of enjoyed not having her around.

Manoosh drove on in silence for a bit. "Chuck?" he said eventually.

"Yeah?"

"How did we get Wesley out?"

* * *

Flashback, to the house on the cliff, that afternoon…

Chuck put his phone away. "That was Karl," he told the team. "He was monitoring the site, he knows his brother is exposed and he's on his way to collect him."

"Then I'm a dead man," said Wesley.

"No," said Sarah. "You're not. Your brother lied to us."

"Bad guys do that," said Carina.

"Doesn't make it smart," said Casey. "Actually, makes it pretty not-smart."

"He said you were a prisoner here," said Sarah. "We promised him that we would protect you and that's what we're going to do."

Chuck nodded at their new protectee. "She's very literal-minded."

"See?" said Casey. "You gotta be careful what you ask for, especially when it's us you're asking."

"Okay. How?" asked Wesley. "There's only one way out of this place."

"Obviously not," said Casey. "Getting _you_ out will be easy, it's Sleeping Beauty here I'm worried about." He pointed at Manoosh, then realized everyone else was staring at him. "What?"

"Everybody, on three," said Carina. "One, two, three…"

"We won't tell him you said so," Chuck, Sarah, and Carina said in unison.

Casey sneered. Or smiled. Hard to tell.

Chuck picked up Manoosh, carrying him easily. "Back to the cliff."

One trek back to the cliff later…

"They said no one could climb this," said Wesley, looking at the rope down the cliff face, as Carina started her descent.

"Normally they'd be right," said Chuck, putting a climbing belt on his unconscious partner. "Just climbing with standard techniques would take too long, and using a gun to speed up the process would make too much noise."

"Yeah, that's what they said."

"You ever heard of a crossbow?" asked Chuck.

"As good as a gun at close range," said Casey, as Sarah went over the edge. "And completely silent."

"What?" said Wesley, who apparently had not heard of crossbows.

"I know, right," said Chuck. "Sounds like the Middle Ages, but someone on the team happens to be an archer, so–" He broke off and went to the cliff edge. "Hey, Red!" he called down.

"What?"

"Stampede or Archer?"

A moment of silence, then "Archer" came back up over the cliff.

Casey rolled his eyes. "Glad we got that important business out of the way." He approached Wesley with a rope, and started tying it around his waist. "You're injured. We go together."

"What about them?" said Wesley. "That guy's unconscious."

"Don't worry about them, worry about you." Casey looked down the cliff. "Okay, one down. You're next."

Chuck waited until they were all down before he untied the rope from the boulder, turning it into a rope harness around himself. He looked down. Sarah, Carina, and Wesley were already gone, to the relative safety of their vehicle, while Casey held the rope at the bottom, ready to take up slack. He went back and lifted up Manoosh, clipping the climbing belt to his rope harness. Then he went back to the cliff.

"Look out below," he called.

Then he jumped.

* * *

"You jumped?" asked Manoosh.

"Mm-hmm," said Chuck, typing again.

"And then you flashed on time-travel techniques so we could go back a few years and heal up?"

Chuck got a bit of a laugh from that. "We didn't fall, at least not directly. The _other_ good thing about the crossbow is that it's not quite as powerful as a rifle, so the bolts weren't stuck in the cliff so hard. As we fell they popped out, leaving nothing in the cliff to show how we climbed it."

"Wish I'd been there," said Manoosh.

"You were there," said Chuck. "Good thing, too, otherwise I might have had to crawl down the wall, which would have been great for taking the rope with us but would have left the pitons where they were, and you know me, I'm not a fan of sub-optimal outcomes."

_Wall-crawling. _"Yeah, Chuck," said Manoosh thoughtfully. "I know you. You have the power to do something right, you do it right."

"Mm-hmm," said Chuck absently, typing some more. "I try. You just gotta learn to think it through, is all."

"Yeah." Manoosh drove on, into the dark. Thinking.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Decker," said Vivian archly. "Any luck finding this Piranha person?" Emphasis on the word 'luck'.

"I haven't been trying to find the Piranha," said Decker.

"You haven't? Hmm, perhaps I had best shift my resources behind an agency that will."

"Trying to find someone of his skill when he doesn't want to be found would just be a waste of that money. I have a plan. I'm going to offer him the one thing he wants more than anything else, the one thing he can't get with all his hacking skills."

"Which is?"

"A challenge."

* * *

"Hey, Chuck, we're here."

Chuck closed his laptop, and hopped out of the car. On one side of the street was a parking lot, with an office building right across from it. Not a restaurant or a diner in sight. "Um, Manoosh," he asked, "Where is here?"

"That's Karl Sneijder's headquarters, Chuck," said Manoosh, pointing at the office building.

And this was Chuck's car, loaded with tranq guns and not much else. "You know this how?"

"He used his return address when he mailed back the Carmichael Industries comment card."

"Well, you know, Manoosh, that sort of screams 'trap' to me right there…"

"I know, doesn't it?" Manoosh clicked the fob and popped the trunk. "And who better to spring that trap than two Intersects?"

"Um, two Intersects and their entire support team?"

"Chuck, Chuck," said Manoosh patronizingly, "Face it. They're crossbows, we're lasers." He handed Chuck one of his own guns.

Chuck stared at it, hanging in the air before him. "Sometimes crossbows are the right answer, or at least a good enough answer. You don't always need lasers, eight o'clock, day one."

Manoosh shrugged. "Maybe for going up a wall, but for going down one, you need Spiderman. Like you said, great power. We have a responsibility to prevent those sorts of questions from being asked."

Chuck took the gun simply to put it out of sight under his coat. "No, we don't."

"Casey's a dinosaur," said Manoosh, "And I don't really know what Carina is–"

"Join the club."

"Sarah's pregnant, Chuck," said Manoosh. "Do you really think she should be in on this?"

For a second, one precious second, Chuck stood paralyzed, his primordial urge to protect the mother of his unborn child running up against a very clear notion of the ass-kicking she would give him once she finished slaughtering their enemies, if he tried any such thing. "Um…"

"It's our duty, Chuck," said Manoosh, grabbing another gun for himself. "You know it, and I know it. For the team!" He slammed the trunk and took off across the street, taking the car keys with him.

"Yeah, the team," said Chuck. He pressed the emergency alarm on his watch before he followed.

* * *

**A/N2 **Not as flamingly obvious as "Indiana who?" but it's not coming totally out of left field. Manoosh's problems with the Intersect will be more like canon S3, problems Chuck never had in this story.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N **Chuck is really quite unfair to Morgan in Bearded Bandit. In S4's opening episode Morgan followed Chuck into Volkoff's factory, and only applauded Chuck taking out a horde of gunmen at once. I'm not surprised Morgan felt a little betrayed. One could even make the argument that if Chuck hadn't been constantly stopping Morgan they might have won.

* * *

"_Do we have another mission?"_

"_There are some acts even I don't want to get caught in."_

"_You gotta be careful what you ask for."_

"_For the team!" _

* * *

Ellie Bartowski-Woodcombe was in her office reviewing the latest scans when the call came in. Her monitor lit up in shades of gray, but she'd know those shifting tones anywhere. "Hi, Dad, glad you're here." And she was, strangely enough.

After the whole tracker debacle, Stephen stayed on his best behavior, taking baby steps back into her good graces. "What can I do for you, Eleanor?"

"I can really use your help interpreting these scans." Ellie moved a number of windows onto the monitor.

"What's happened?" said Orion, his voice tense.

"Nothing, Dad, or maybe something, I don't know," said Ellie. She expanded a window, the twisting ring becoming a tangled skein of someone's thoughts. "I have no baseline."

"What do you mean, no baseline?" asked Stephen, pulling up Manoosh's algorithm for regularizing the waves. "You've been scanning Chuck for months."

Ellie shook her head. "These aren't Chuck's. They're scans of Manoosh."

Orion didn't bother with all the questions in the middle. "What did he upload?" Couldn't be the whole Intersect, Ellie would know what arrangements to make in that case.

"Just the skills."

"How many?"

"All of them."

Stephen felt a stab of dismay. Hartley had experimented on himself too. "He's your expert–"

"He doesn't think globally, Dad. He thinks of these scans as art." Which had been a very good thing, once, He'd saved Chuck's life and mind when he noticed what the rest of them couldn't. "Any one skill, yes, he's the expert, but not all of them, with the necessary data, over this long a time."

Orion sighed. "I'll do my best, sweetheart, but the skills weren't my doing."

"It's not the skills but the framework I'm worried about, and that is your doing," said Ellie, "And mine, and I can't help but feel that there's something very wrong with–"

Suddenly her watch started beeping.

"What's that?" asked her father.

"Chuck's emergency alert. Dad, I have to go."

"No you don't." The monitor split into two panels, one of which was full of frenzied activity, and the other showed the inside of Carmichael Industries' secret base. Ellie felt a stab of déjà vu, but this time when the upset blonde walked by she wasn't carrying a rocket launcher, so that was something. "Sarah, what's happening?"

On the screen, Sarah lifted her head and scanned the room. "Ellie? Where are you?"

"I'm on your left," said Ellie, and Sarah turned her head, looking vague. After a moment her gaze sharpened and Ellie knew she'd spotted the camera. "What's wrong with Chuck?"

"We don't know," said Sarah. "He's only supposed to be on a food run with Manoosh. He was getting antsy."

"Who, Chuck?"

"No, Manoosh. He's been getting pushier about doing the missions, lately. At first I thought it was just him wanting to play with his new toys, but now I'm not so sure."

Ellie glanced at the gray box. "You think something could be wrong with Manoosh?"

"Long term, yes." Then Sarah shook her head. "But Chuck would have called."

_He did. _"Unless he can't," said Ellie. "Do you know where they are?"

"Yep," said Casey, behind Sarah. "Coordinates are–"

"Plotted on screen one," said Orion.

Casey grumbled a bit, but eventually said, "Thanks." The screen resolved into a map of the city, with two dots on it.

"Where is that?" asked Carina.

"What are those two dots?" asked Casey. Only Chuck had a tracker–three of them–and they would have registered as one.

"Well, for the first part…" said Stephen, and the image shifted, got smaller, as the map expanded to include their own location, a third dot, but the other two appeared to have merged into one.

"Why so far?" said Sarah.

"That's no deli," said Carina, suddenly. "That's location one. Orion, can you pull in?"

"_What's_ location one?" asked Casey, as the mapped swelled again, the merged dots separating. One seemed to be moving, according to the coordinates, while the other was stable, just outside the outer wall.

"Remember when Karl left," asked Carina, "We gave him one of my experiments as a combination 'thank you' and 'going-away' present, you know, 'thank you for going away'? Well, Chuck had me load it up with tracking nanos, so we could track it even if he ate it." Things got real quiet all of a sudden. "He might have!" She pointed to the unmoving dot. "Looks like he threw it away instead, the bastard, but he must have gone back to his office first."

"Wait a minute," said Casey. "Are you telling me that we really are getting a signal off a bran muffin?"

* * *

Lock-picking. Recon. Ninjitsu. And a good bit of hide-and-seek where, Chuck had to admit, the smaller guy had a real advantage. "Manoosh," he whispered, head down and gun high, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do mean, 'what am I doing'?" Manoosh whispered back. "I'm doing what you would do, going after the bad guy, protecting the team." He slipped around the corner.

Chuck followed, joining Manoosh behind a low rail. "Getting yourself killed is not helping the team."

"No one's gonna get killed," said Manoosh dismissively, scanning the room. "There's the office. I'll watch your back, you hack in and get the evidence we need to put him away, so Wesley will be safe."

Chuck scanned the room, too. A big one, with lots of entrances. "I don't know, Manoosh, a building this big has to have a lot of guards."

"How many guys did you beat in Volkoff's factory that time?"

"A lot," said Chuck, "But I had Carina with me."

"Well now you've got me, and I think the Intersect might make me at least as good as Carina," said Manoosh, a little put out. "Especially against the kind of goons this guy is likely to have."

"You're assuming," said Chuck.

"Assuming what, that this guy's goons aren't gonna be trained up to Volkoff standards? Seems like a pretty safe bet to me."

A single goon wandered into the room, on his usual rounds. His weapon wasn't ready as his dle gaze swept the room, seeing only what he expected to see, completely missing the two intruders.

Manoosh gestured. _See what I mean?_

Chuck gestured back. _Be gentle._

Manoosh handed Chuck his gun, and vaulted the rail.

* * *

A black Porsche roared down the road, treating the Virginia highway system like it was a racetrack with only one car on it. No one even tried to pull her over. The word had already gone out, the Porsche Blonde was in hot pursuit.

While Carina called Davis from the back seat (of course), Casey made a call of his own from the front seat. "Alex? Are you and your guest still enjoying your dinner?"

"Yes, Dad," said Alex' voice over the speaker. "We were just wondering where to go next."

"You might want to stay there a while longer. Ask the waiter for the special dessert menu."

Alex dropped the pretense. Her voice went hollow, as she put the phone on speaker on her end as well. "What's going on, Dad?"

"Dumb and Dumber decided to buy some diamonds without us."

Alex didn't respond immediately. When the phone spoke again it was with Wesley's voice. "Tell them to stay out! It looks like an office building, but if he thought something was up my brother could lock that place down like a fortress. No one could get in or out."

"Thanks for the warning, kid," said Casey caustically. Now the second half of the team would be completely cut off from the first half, rather than right there in the thick of it with them.

Sarah snatched the phone and took it off speaker. "Yes, thank you, Wesley, we'll take it from here. Alex, if you don't hear from us in an hour I suggest you take him back to your place." She tossed the phone back in its owner's lap. "You really are an ass, Casey."

"Not as big of an ass as you," said Carina.

"That's the sort of thing we need to know during the planning stage of an operation, Bartowski. What good does it do us to tell us now?"

"'Take him back to your place'," came a mumble from the back seat. "Right in front of Daddy Dearest?"

"Maybe none," admitted Sarah.

Casey turned his head. Slightly. He wasn't sure what he'd see back there. "She meant the FBI, Miss Phone Sex!"

_Like I can do _real_–Nope, not thinking it. _"I knew that," said Carina loudly, and then whispered into her phone, "We'll pick this up later."

"_But_ he's a civilian," Sarah continued, remembering what happened to the last few civilians who got mixed up in their business, her foot pressing harder on the accelerator with each word, "And he's wounded, and he's a civilian, and his brother is out to kill him, and did I forget to mention he's a civilian."

"We got it, we got it," said Carina. "His brother's out to get him, no need to go on about it."

"And we need a plan," said Casey, "Preferably before you get us there _yesterday_."

"Oh," said Sarah, easing up on the gas.

"Make up your mind, Casey," said Carina. "Weren't you just saying you wanted to know all this stuff yesterday?"

_Nuts!_ On the outside, all he said was, "Time travel's cheating."

* * *

"Chuck!" called Manoosh from the outer room. "A little help please."

Chuck selected every one of his little scripts in the current folder and dropped them onto the desktop, clicking 'Enter'. Neither elegant nor timely, they would still get the job done, copying everything onto a remote server. Once activated, the first thing the programs did was remove all signs that the processes even existed, but he didn't stay to watch them go. He pulled his fob from the port and ran out of the office to help his partner.

Manoosh was facing five to one odds at the moment, but one of those five had his back to Chuck. Several tranq darts later the odds were zero to two.

Manoosh looked at the guns in Chuck's hands. "That's cheating, don't you think?"

"Um, no."

"Come on, Chuck, we did two on five on stage, it wasn't that hard."

"All right, a) they took me by surprise, and b) I didn't have a tranq gun on me at the time," said Chuck, holding out the weapon. "But believe me, if I had, those six guys on stage would have been down before they would ever have gotten with hitting distance of anyone on my team. There are no bonus points for elegance here. We're here to win, and that means sometimes you break things."

"You sound like Casey," said Manoosh with disgust. "Grunt, grunt, achieve the objective, smash, smash."

Nobody talked about Chuck's friends like that, not even another of Chuck's friends. "You know, it's easy to sneer at Casey as long as you have a Casey to sneer at. But you know what, I don't see Casey around right now. And guess what, we have an objective we need to accomplish, so yes, listen to me grunting."

A goon leapt into the room, screaming and screeching, flashing two katanas like some modern-day samurai. In seconds, Chuck saw the pattern of the swords, and raised his gun to put a dart in the guy's neck the next time it was clear.

Manoosh hit his wrist, and the gun went flying. "You know that whole Indiana Jones thing was ad libbed, don't you, Chuck? And in the second movie he lost his gun, remember? And you know why that happened?" Manoosh stabbed a finger at his friend's face, which Chuck did not break off and hand back to him. "Because guns are easy to _lose_, Chuck."

"Hey!" said the guy with the swords, and they turned to look at him. "You have to admit it was a funny bit though, both times."

"Admit this!" said Manoosh, leaping to the attack. Chuck raced to get his gun back, hopefully in time to stop Manoosh from getting too chopped up. Just as he found it someone screamed, high and shrill. He turned and aimed, but only Manoosh was still standing, the swordsman writhing on the ground, his hands and lags clenched tight, but apparently too late.

Manoosh looked at him with scorn. "We're Intersects, Chuck. We're better than that."

Armed men ran into the room from every entrance, automatic weapons ready. Manoosh tensed, but none of them made any attempt to get close. Karl Sneijder walked into the room, gun in hand. "Always the critic." He screwed a silencer onto his gun. "So no doubt you will agree with me that the prequel trilogy is far superior to the original."

Manoosh's eyes started to flutter, but Chuck was only a little less surprised than Sneijder when he collapsed. "Good shooting," said Karl, indicating Chuck's gun. "So. Did you bring me my brother?"

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski sat in her office, dealing with matters that she hadn't had to deal with in years, and she wasn't happy about it. Agent Charles' little mistake at SAFE, her own mistake, was costing her dearly, in contracts lost and/or late nights and advertising in order to get them back. They had the pockets and they had the people, which she'd hoped their clients knew by now, but their loss of face was a cruel reminder of how short people's memories were. Even her current clients were trying to renegotiate their rates.

She could have been in Germany, shooting and being shot at, something fun. Or the occasional late night meeting with–no, the middle of a war is no place for romance, and Gertrude Verbanski was very good at finding wars to be in. Even as the tactician in her handled the small stuff, the strategist pondered the best response to this attack on her position.

So when her phone rang she was in no mode to be very nice to the person on the other end of the call. "Miss Walker? It's kind of late to be trying to jump ship but for an agent of your caliber I'll make an exception. What can I do for you? "

From the sound coming over the phone, 'Miss Walker' was moving at high speed. "You can call me Mrs. Bartowski, Gertrude, or the deal's off."

"What deal?"

"The one I'm about to propose."

The tactician in Gertrude gave way completely to the strategist. Carmichael, Charles, whatever name he went by, he was famous for his deceptive plans, but Sarah wasn't Agent Charles. Was this a ploy, or a chink in their armor? CI had a lot of high cards. After that unplanned demonstration, no one believed Agent Charles' blithe 'no relation' comments, and really, why was he trying to fool people anyway? This was a business that thrived on reputation. What kind of deal would Sarah feel she had to offer? "I'm listening."

The proposal was short. The implications were…vast. Gertrude wondered if Sarah even knew what she was asking for, or if her years in government service had left her blind to private sector considerations. For the first time in days Gertrude felt like smiling. "Why, Mrs. Bartowski, I do believe we have a deal." And she would back this one up with enough guns to make it stick.

She hung up. _Then_ she smiled.

* * *

Manoosh rattled the cuffs securing him to the chair. "I can't believe you knocked me out, when I had him just where I wanted him."

"I didn't knock you out, you knocked yourself out, just because he dissed Star Wars."

"Okay, a) everyone with half a brain knows that the prequel series doesn't even deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the original, and b) what makes you think I'd trust anything you said now, Mr. Dart Gun?"

"Hey, in case you missed it, most of this mess is yours, Hong Kong Fooey, the guys I hit just fell down. And what do you have against dart guns anyway? Five minutes ago it was crossbows–"

"It's not like dart guns are any improvement–"

"Shut up!" bellowed Sneijder, and his hostages stopped talking. "You two whine like schoolgirls."

"Sexist," muttered Manoosh.

"And a fortunate one at that," said Karl, raising his gun dramatically. "I only need one hostage to get my brother back, and I might have had a hard time deciding which of you to kill."

"Everybody picks on the artist," said Manoosh.

The lights went out. on the inside. From the outside, harsh blue lights blazed through the windows, illuminating both ceiling and floor as the roar of a helicopter passed overhead.

Karl didn't have time to lower his blast shields again, or regret raising them in the first place, before armed and hooded figures crashed through the glass on all sides. He couldn't tell friend from foe in the dark, but the intruders had no problem, and red dots appeared on the faces of all his men.

Manoosh pulled at his cuffs, to no avail. The room was full of art and he was stuck sitting!

The lights came on. "Drop your weapons," said Gertrude, the only unmasked commando in the room. Karl turned, and she shot the gun out of his hand. The bullet ricocheted, striking a pedestal, making it wobble. Gertrude reached out absently to steady the vase on display, as she said, "Next time I shoot something that matters."

Karl nodded to his henchmen and they surrendered, Gertrude stalking forward to clap the boss in irons herself. "There are just so many people who would love to get you inside one of their little windowless rooms, Karl." As her forces took him away, she turned to Sarah as she unmasked and said, "And I get to collect the bounties from all of them."

"Bounties?" asked Chuck, as he was being uncuffed.

"Sure," said Gertrude. "I'm not above a little pro bono work, Mr. Carmichael, especially for a colleague of your reputation, but I prefer to get paid for my efforts." She gestured casually toward the exit. "Karl there was quite a high-profile target."

"You certainly deserve it," said Chuck, sticking out a hand. "There's no one I'd rather have at my back than your firm."

She shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, Mr. Carmichael, you're very kind."

"Only the truth," said Chuck.

Gertrude Verbanski turned away to oversee the clean-up. "John?" she said, with professional cordiality. "Always a pleasure." He looked good in her uniform. Really good.

He grunted an equally cordial acknowledgement. Range time tonight.

Once out of the room, she said to her cameraman, "Edit that last part out."

* * *

"Chuck, she was filming all that," snapped Carina, not surprisingly the fastest at taking Gertrude's uniform off, handing her gear to one of the men who'd stood enthralled as she did it.

"I certainly hope so," said Chuck. "Be kind of a waste if she wasn't."

"You planned that?" said Sarah with a dangerous tone to her voice.

"Not the getting captured part," said Chuck quickly. "But yeah, we did step on her toes back at SAFE, so it was a reasonable expectation if we had to call her at all. Taking Sneijder as a client just meant it was sooner rather than later. And we got Sneijder's data, which is much more important than the man himself. You see, Manoosh, that's how it's–" He looked around. "Where'd Manoosh go?"

* * *

Outside Sneijder's office…

He'd come to her out of the dark, asking about a job. She had a position open in Signals for a man of his talents, she'd bump somebody to make one if she had to, but he wanted a combat role. She laughed in his face.

He didn't take that well. She almost fell to his attack from sheer surprise, but combat reflexes saved her, and she held him off, far too easily. A-Squad responded instantly to his attack on their boss, and now A-Squad was in need of medical assistance. The little man asked again about a combat role, not even breathing hard.

"Impressive, Mr. Depak," said Gertrude Verbanski. "Most impressive."


	29. Lessons Learned

**-A/N **I just watched the first section of Frosted Tips. Amazingly bad. The Casey scenes just cry out to be rewritten. So I'm going with the banter instead.

* * *

"_All of them." _

"_Dumb and Dumber decided to buy some diamonds without us."_

"_Guns are easy to _lose_, Chuck."_

"_Impressive, Mr. Depak." _

* * *

"I can't believe you just let him go out by himself like that," said Carina, throwing herself into a chair with her usual abandon. "He's a sitting duck, a helpless little muffin–"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "He's one of the most dangerous men in the world, and please don't talk about muffins…"

"I meant the good ones," Carina grumbled.

"I know what you meant, but the damage is done," said Sarah with a slight shudder. "The point being, I don't have that kind of authority. _I'm_ not his handler."

Carina threw herself _out_ of the chair. "Oh, God!"

"What?"

"Please don't mention him and handling in the same sentence. I just got a visual it'll take me weeks to forget."

Sarah shrugged. "Could be worse. I once got 'John Casey' and 'Speedo'."

Carina must have had a stronger imagination than Sarah had. She gagged. "You…You…" She whirled, took a few steps and opened the door. "Chuck! What's a harridan, again?"

Chuck was in his sleeping berth, getting ready for his meet. He didn't pause putting on his shirt, completely unfazed by the sudden appearance of Carina in his room while he was getting dressed, or the apparently random question. "An unpleasant and bossy older woman."

_Crap. _No, wait. Sarah was older than her. "So if I call Sarah a cruel harridan…?"

"Not redundant, no."

"Thanks, sweetie," called Sarah.

"Yeah, thanks." Carina started to close the door.

"I'd have to wonder why, though," said Chuck.

"Of course you would," said Carina, closing the door , leaving him alone with his curiosity.

"Banter lessons?" asked Sarah.

"I try to learn from the best, you cruel harridan."

"He is that," said Sarah, with a small, carefully hidden grin.

"You're smirking, aren't you?" said Carina. "I can feel you smirking from here. Cut it out, or better yet, go with him. You know the DoD's not after you. You could be out with the hubby at this meet, maybe spend some quality time together. I can handle this op as well as you, probably better."

"And yet, he chose me," said Sarah. "I wonder why." She flipped a switch. "Casey?"

"What?" he replied, his voice low.

"Carina wants to know if she can run the op, apparently Chuck and I aren't giving her enough vicarious smoochies."

Casey ignored the question so completely he didn't even mention ladyfeelings. "Don't bail on me now, Bartowski," he snarled. Quietly. "I'm almost in position."

Sarah made a thumbs-down gesture at her red-headed companion. "So you're finally ready?"

"I was _conceived_ ready."

Sarah muted the mike as Carina snickered. "That must have been painful for Mrs. Casey," said the red-head. "Coburn, whatever. Good thing they didn't have sonograms a zillion years ago, otherwise the Gatling gun would have shown right up. Blown his cover before he even had a diaper."

"That would be a Mauser, Carina," said Sarah. "Or maybe a flintlock. It wouldn't have been a Gatling gun until the seventh month at least."

Carina laughed. "I don't know what's worse, you saying it or me thinking it's funny."

"Laughter has been detected," said Chuck from his room (it really was a small facility), in a robotic voice. "Must seek out amusing situation."

"We were just joking about Casey as a fetus," said Sarah when he came in, suddenly aware of how ridiculous that must have sounded. She cleared her throat, pointing at the speaker. "He started it."

"Oh," said Chuck. He tried to look menacing, but that didn't work so well, because…Chuck. "What do you mean, no cigars," he snarled, or tried to. "And no Black Label? This place sucks! Sorry, mom, no offense."

Both women dissolved in a fit of giggles.

Chuck frowned. "Do I have to remind you that government regulation one-four-seven specifically forbids expressions of joy-slash-happiness on government grounds?"

"Does it?" asked Sarah, rising to meet the challenge, and the challenger. "You mean like this?" She drew Chuck into a kiss, the kind that says 'fifteen minutes apart is just too goddamn long', her fingers in his hair.

He made a sound of joy-slash-happiness. "Bus-ted," said Carina in a sing-song voice.

Sarah looked down. "What are you doing in my seat?"

"Taking notes," said Carina. "How do you spell 'vicarious'?"

Sarah pulled away from her husband, patting him on the chest. "You, go." She turned, and grabbed Carina's collar. "You, move."

* * *

"Hey, Manoosh," said Chuck, knocking on his door. "You ready to move out?"

Manoosh opened his door instantly. "Willing and waiting, Captain Spiderman, sir. What's the mission?"

"That's what we're going to find out." As they headed to his car, he noticed the screen lit up on Manoosh's phone. "You reading something?"

Manoosh took out his phone, tapping the screen to keep it live. "I was reading up about Spiderman and his clones, like you said, and I found this blog about power, and stuff like that. Pretty cool, especially this one guy, he only signs on for a little while every day, but he always says something interesting. You read much of that sort of thing, Chuck?"

"I get most of my philosophy from comic books and fantasy novels, Manoosh, you know that."

"Spoken like a true nerd," said Manoosh. "Jeffster1 says he gets his inspirations from music–"

Chuck stopped. "Jeffster who?"

"Jeffster1, that's his handle. You know him?"

Chuck started again. "I knew a band called Jeffster, out in LA."

"That's where he says he's from."

_Small world._ "And he only signs in once a day? When?"

Manoosh had been tracking his usage. "Noon-ish, his time, for about an hour."

_Jeff Barnes? _Locked in a broken bathroom stall, all by himself. Chuck shook his head in a daze. "Well, at least now I know what he does on his lunch breaks."

* * *

"Five…four…three…two…one!" said Sarah, and right on cue, Casey turned the corner and stopped right in front of Gertrude Verbanski. The encounter had been planned to happen in front of a traffic camera, and of course they could hear the whole thing over Casey's surveillance equipment.

"_John?"_ said Gertrude, recovering from the surprise first, even though for Casey it was no surprise at all.

"_Oh, uh, hi, Gertrude,"_ said Casey. He laughed nervously. _"Small world."_

"_Hmm,"_ she _hmm_-ed, stepping forward. She ran a hand up his arm, fingers trailing lightly. _"Nice and cozy, but I expect some parts of it will be getting larger before too much…longer."_

Casey _urk_-ed in the back of his throat but made no audible sound.

"Casey! Casey!" Sarah hit the button several times, knowing it would make some obnoxious beeps in his ear. "Restore your perimeter, Colonel."

"Sarah?" asked Carina. "What the hell are you doing? She's totally into him!"

"Who cares? It's him being totally into her that I'm worried about," said Sarah. "This is not a seduction mission, Casey!"

"It is for her," said Carina, pointing at the video from the traffic-cam. "Why are you so eager to block his…play?"

"He told me to," said Sarah. She dropped her voice, not very far, but managed to capture his tone a bit better. "'It's Gertrude, Bartowski, I can't trust myself. I need you to keep me on script.'" She leaned close to the mike. "Not that he's _listening_ when I do. Casey, plant the bug and get out of there!"

"_I was on my way to this little oyster place I know, not far from here,"_ said Casey, as the script dictated.

"_The Cerulean, my favorite,"_ said Gertrude. She smiled up at him. _"I'm thinking maybe I could go for some Blue Points right about now…"_

"_They have a mignonette sauce to die for,"_ said Casey. _"Something to thank the French for, along with helping to establish this great country of ours."_

Carina hit the switch. "Oh, that's smooth, Romeo."

"Good," said Sarah, "We don't want smooth."

Gertrude laughed lightly._ "You never were very good with the chit-chat. In case you don't know, this is the part where you ask me to dinner."_

Casey stuck out a hand. Gertrude looking puzzled, took it.

"No," said Carina. "You're supposed to move in, give her a kiss on the cheek, let her know you're interested."

"Good work, Casey," said Sarah. "You're back in the friend zone. Plant the bug already, and walk away."

John raised her hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss across Gertrude's knuckles. _"If I may have the honor…?"_

"No!" said Sarah.

"Yes!" said Carina. "And away they go." She pointed at the traffic-cam image, as Gertrude turned in Casey's arms and they stepped out into the street.

Sarah threw herself back in her chair. "Am I the only one who knows how to stay on mission?"

* * *

"Hey, Chuck?" asked Manoosh, as Chuck pulled his car into the small lot for restaurant employees.

"Yeah, Manoosh?"

"Shouldn't we be parked in the customer section?"

"We're not here to eat," said Chuck, killing the engine. "I was asked to keep this meeting as low-key as I could."

"Someone'll be coming out?"

"Nope."

"So we're going in?" Manoosh said with distaste. "Waiting on tables?"

"Like Casey always says, no one notices the waiters. Or was that Morgan?" He snapped his fingers. "Nope, it was Morgan. With Casey it's bartenders, or janitors."

"You're taking spy advice from those two?"

"Why not?" Chuck opened the door, and Manoosh followed him out. "The name of the game is to be invisible, and that takes skill. Doesn't it, Sam?"

Morgan's favorite headwaiter was waiting for them. "Yes it does, Mr. Carmichael, although the uniforms don't hurt. Most people don't notice the guy inside the jacket unless he screws up or something, so don't do that." He scanned Chuck's body as they walked to the side entrance. "Not sure I have anything in your size, though."

_Roll with it._ "What about my partner here?"

Sam sized Manoosh up. "Oh yeah, you we can do. You up to it?"

Manoosh snorted. "Anything he can do, I can do."

Sam nodded. "We'll set you up with a good bottle of wine. Your party's in the secure booth already."

* * *

"I don't know what you're crying about." Carina pointed at the other screen, the street, the people, the Cerulean in the distance. "He planted your bug, you big baby. Even better, now we know how John Casey ever managed to have a daughter. Every ounce of moxie that girl's got, she must have inherited from her mother."

"If you ask Casey, I think he might even agree with you," said Sarah. "But I wouldn't recommend asking. I don't think he likes Alex Coburn very much. He never talks about him."

"It's not a 'him', it's a part of his life," said Carina. "He has a past he's not proud of, so what? He seems to be enjoying his present well enough." Gertrude's bug showed Casey's large hand as he opened the door to the oyster bar.

Sarah snapped off the monitor, letting them have their privacy.

"What's the bug for, anyway? Seems kind of stalker-y, even for an emotionally-stunted Marine."

"It wasn't Casey's idea, it was Chuck's."

_Okay. Um…_"Why would Chuck want to put a bug on Verbanski?"

"Protective coloration," said Sarah. "He figures as long as CI is around, it should look and act like other spy companies, but he doesn't know how other spy companies act."

"Bugging the CEO of your rival is a good start."

Sarah squirmed at the charge. Gertrude may have been a rival, but she was a friendly one, very friendly where John Casey was concerned, and it bothered Sarah a bit to take advantage of her good graces so soon after getting back into them. "We're not bugging her, we're…studying her."

* * *

Manoosh walked to the booth, back straight, tray level, and bottle steady. He tapped lightly on the plaque by the secure booth. "Madame, your wine?"

"Come in," said General Beckman.

If Manoosh was surprised to see Alex McHugh in the booth as the General's guest, he kept it buried. He busied himself preparing the General's wine as she continued her conversation, apparently with her guest. "The target is Mats Zorn."

"The guy with the whistleblower website?" asked Alex.

"Exactly," said Beckman, waving away the cork Manoosh offered to her. He placed it on the tray. "He males Wiki-Leaks look like child's play."

"And he's got my disk?"

"Along with a number of other highly-confidential CIA memos, but the disk is by far the most important," said Beckman. She took the glass with a small amount of wine from Manoosh, inhaling the aroma. "We've had inquiries about the Norseman from numerous government agencies from around the world. They can't be allowed to know that we destroyed such a unique device." She sipped her wine. "Not to mention what would happen if the news went public." She nodded to Manoosh, setting down her glass, and he poured for both ladies.

"I'd think people would be happy to know it was gone," said Alex.

"People are far too easily manipulated, by anyone with a billion dollars and an axe to grind, and there are far too many of those," said the General. "Better that they never know." She held up a small flash drive. "This has the details of the mission. Zorn's constantly on the move, as you can imagine, but he can't risk his mole in the CIA getting discovered and he'll need authenticity, so they can't transmit the recording. He'll have to pick it up himself." She placed the drive on the tray. "We'll leave it to you to figure out when and where to take him down. We can and will have no connection to the entire affair, is that clear? If you can figure out a way to collect the bounty on Zorn, so much the better."

"Yes, ma'am," said Alex.

"Then here's to a successful mission," said the General, and she and Alex toasted as Manoosh scooped up the drive and his tray, and left.

* * *

Sarah scanned the room as best she could from the vantage point of Gertrude's shoulder, as the other woman sat bent over her desk, hard at work. The date had ended, with Casey on his way back to base and Gertrude heading back to her office. While Sarah couldn't fault her work ethic, the décor was another story, all metal and plastic.

_Metal and plastic what? _"Trophy cases?" They didn't look like weapons intended to be used. Not only were they not racked properly, she recognized some of the outlines as being those of museum pieces. That silenced pistol looked like it was twenty years old!

She looked around their own small space. Not enough room down here for the stuff they used, much less any trophies, even if they were tacky enough to put them up.

The phone rang on the screen. By a strange coincidence, the phone in her pocket rang as well.

"Hello?" they both said.

"Sarah?" asked Ellie.

Sarah turned down the volume on the speaker. She'd check the recording later, if Casey thought it was safe. "Hey, Ellie, what's up?"

"Is Manoosh there?"

"He went out with Chuck," said Sarah, checking the time. They should be on their way back by now. "They had a meet with a client."

"He had an appointment with me," said Ellie. "Dad and I don't like the look of the scans, and we wanted him to come in for a full workup."

"I thought you wanted us to keep him safe and away from the lab?"

"That was before," said Ellie. 'Before what', she didn't say, but Sarah thought she knew. The fall of Karl Sneijder had made the news, and naturally they'd told her the true story behind it. "Diane said we'll have the DoD off our backs soon, but Dad and I don't think we can wait that long. We asked him to come in tonight."

"He didn't say anything about it to us…"

"I was afraid of that."

"That's why you asked him and not me or Chuck?" said Sarah. "Some sort of test?"

"We don't have a baseline," said Ellie. "So we're trying to make some behavioral correlations. We wanted to see what he'd do. Or not do."

Sarah went for the most innocent explanation. "You think he forgot? Something's wrong with his memory?"

"I wish I could," said Ellie. "But whatever's going on I don't think it's nearly that straightforward. Can you just get him in here, please?"

"As soon as they get back, shouldn't be long."

"Thanks."

Naturally, the second the call ended she heard the outer airlock open. "Chuck?"

"It's me," said Casey. He checked the feed from the bug straight off. "What's with the sound?"

"She got a phone call."

"And you turned it down, good." He'd been very emphatic that they not spy on Gertrude or her clients. All they wanted were some visuals, after all, but they couldn't just drop by and visit, not now. He put on his earphones to check the feed, while fiddling with the visual controls to blur the writing on the pages she was looking at. "You'd better not have been looking at this."

"Relax," said Sarah with some exasperation. "I was on the phone with Ellie, she's worried about Manoosh."

Casey grunted a _me, too_ but his reasons were probably not the same as a trained health care professional's. Just then they heard the airlock cycle again. Sarah got up to welcome her husband back from his evening away from her, while Casey turned up the gain on his headphones until it was over.

"Where's Manoosh?" Sarah asked, and Casey knew it was safe to pay attention again.

"No idea," said Chuck. "I stopped to get some munchies and he was gone." He turned to look at Casey, intent on the screen. "Casey, you up for a little hide-and-seek?"

"I don't think so, Bartowski," said Casey.

"Come on, big guy, it'll be fun," said Chuck in a cajoling tone. "He's even got a head start on us and everything."

Casey took off his headphones and turned up the sound. "I mean I don't think so because I don't have to." He gestured at the screen angrily. Manoosh was there, sitting across from Gertrude in her office. "I can't believe she'd poach from _us_!"

"Shh," said Chuck and Sarah together.

"Well, Miss Verbanski," said Manoosh, his face coming closer to fill the screen. "Have you thought about my offer?"

* * *

**A/N2** I always thought of Casey as the embodiment of personal honor and courage, so that's the way I wanted that scene to play out, plus he'd already established a stronger relationship with Verbansski in this story, so the cowardly lover angle wouldn't have worked anyway. The hardest part of the chapter was coming up with a semi-plausible explanation for why they'd bug Gertrude that wasn't too stalker-y. They portrayed Chuck as being overly-obsessive about his proposal, of all things, so why not put that attention to detail into CI? Better than a cowardly, dishonorable Casey.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N **Sorry for the scene changes, but the alternative is a hell of a lot of italics.

* * *

"I'm_ not his handler." _

"_Restore your perimeter, Colonel!"_

"_Anything he can do, I can do."_

"_Have you thought about my offer?"_

* * *

Manoosh's face shrank in the screen, but he wasn't backing down. The bug on Gertrude's jacket moved away from him as she settled back into her chair. "_Your offer was…very generous, Mr. Depak_," she said in puzzled tones, "_So much so that I have to wonder why you made it_."

"Yeah, you little traitor," snarled Casey. "What she said."

* * *

In Gertrude's office…

"I thought you'd be happy to have someone who can do what I do," said Manoosh.

"Then you thought wrong," said Verbanski harshly. "This is a security services company, Mr. Depak. A man with your demonstrated abilities, offering them to me for practically nothing, doesn't make me happy. It makes me wonder what you're really after."

"I want what any man with power wants, Miss Verbanski," said Manoosh. "The chance to use it, to do good works for the right reasons."

* * *

Back at CI…

"Kid thinks he's Superman," sneered Casey. No way Gertrude would fall for a line like that.

"No, he doesn't," said Chuck quietly.

* * *

Verbanski Corp. again…

"That's a very comic book view of power, Mr. Depak," said Gertrude, disappointed. Typical nerd. "And hardly appropriate to a mercenary outfit like mine."

"That's where you're wrong," said Manoosh. "Maybe it's inappropriate for other companies but for this one it's just right. I saw you save that vase the other night, at Sneijder's place."

Gertrude didn't remember it. "So?"

"So I know that you would do the right thing if you could. You could have let that vase fall but you didn't."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't have wanted a distraction in a tense situation."

"And that's what I'm offering you," said Manoosh triumphantly. "With my skills you can do your job without having to worry about collateral damage. Every operation, neat and tidy, with no breakage."

Gertrude considered that. No breakage was a nice-to-have in her world, which was rarely ever achieved. The clients who wanted anything close to it paid a hefty premium for the extra work and risk, but if she could cut that cost she could lower the price and still make a fortune.

Of course, so could Carmichael Industries. "I don't recall this service being mentioned during your company's presentation the other day."

"We didn't mention it, exactly," said Manoosh. "If you'd been watching you'd have seen–"

"I had men in the audience, Mr. Depak. They saw a ruined club and mountain covered with wreckage. Not exactly neat and tidy."

* * *

Back at CI…

Chuck frowned. "It was only one train car."

* * *

In Gertrude's office…

Manoosh squirmed. "It was only one train car…"

Point to Manoosh, but Gertrude hadn't gotten to where she was by letting anyone know what she was thinking_. _One train car instead of the whole train, one dead body instead of a dozen, but she doubted anyone else would see it that way. Few people would think about the major disaster they didn't get, instead of the minor disaster you actually gave them. The clients would, but they were a demanding bunch. For them even 'tiny' wasn't enough, so they'd only complain about the lack of a cover-up. "You need better marketing."

"Maybe they do," said Manoosh, "But what _I_ need is a team with more people in it, so I wouldn't have to accept a destroyed train car or a broken vase as an 'acceptable loss.'"

* * *

Watching the monitor…

"What the hell–!" said Chuck. "You were the one–" He turned to his comrades and gestured at the monitor. "It was _his_ idea–"

"_Well, I definitely think we can offer you that,_" said Gertrude. The camera moved forward again, as she leaned forward to offer a hand to her guest and newest employee. "_Congratulations, Mr. Depak. Welcome to Verbanski Corp._"

Casey snapped off the monitor in disgust. "Congratulations, Bartowski," he said to Chuck. "Looks like you've managed to lose your asset. Can't wait to hear how you explain this to the General."

"It's worse than that, Casey," said Chuck, eyes wide, staring at some horror of his own imagining. "A lot worse."

"What do you mean, Chuck?" asked Sarah.

"We're gonna have to explain this to _Ellie_."

* * *

The next morning…

"I'm not sure I can explain it, Eleanor," said Orion. "Not even Chuck displayed these behaviors."

"What about Carmichael?"

"That was an artificial persona, wholly separate from Chuck's personality," said her father dismissively. "Whatever's happening to Manoosh is happening to _him_, changing him, but without a 'before' shot I can't say what those changes are."

Ellie nodded. "All we have are outward manifestations."

"And inconsistent manifestations, at that."

"You think so?" asked Ellie.

"You don't?"

"Of course not," said Ellie. "People aren't programs, Dad. They're messy and multi-dimensional, and they don't always make sense. Everything we've seen so far is perfectly consistent with the Manoosh I know."

"And how well do you know him?"

"Pretty well, he seems to think," said Ellie proudly. "I know he thinks of me as a surrogate mother."

"Just like Chuck, eh?" said Orion with a laugh.

Ellie smiled. "Like brothers. But with his own, unique baggage." Such as his actual mother, and everyone he'd ever known, just about.

"Well, fortunately he's got us to be his own, unique, baggage handlers."

Eye-roll. "God, Dad, with lines like that it's no wonder Mom stayed in Russia."

"Well…"

Ellie panicked. _Please don't tell me…!_

"…Perhaps you'd better tell me more about my new adopted son, then," said Orion. "See if we can find the cure for what ails him."

* * *

"What do you mean she's not there?" Chuck yelled into the phone.

"Dude, you sound stressed," said Devon.

"You have no idea," said Chuck, taking a deep breath. It wasn't Devon's fault, except by reflection. Devon never sounded stressed, and that made his stress more stressful.

"Oh, I think I do, Chuck."

That's right, this was Devon. He _did_ sound stressed. For Devon. "What do you mean?"

"Ellie's back in the lab," said Devon pseudo-calmly. "Something about consulting with a specialist. I've taken my paternity leave time to be with Clara."

To the best of Chuck's knowledge, Clara was the sweetest, most well-behaved child that had ever been born. Ellie said so. From the sound of it, Devon had taken her at her word and thrown himself into the deep end of the kiddie-pool, finding it deeper than he thought. Chuck risked a look at Sarah, but she had her 'Agent' face on. "Is it…is it bad?"

"Oh, it's brutal, bro."

Chuck's voice got smaller. "Really?"

"Yeah, I've done my entire morning routine, and it's not even ten o'clock. I don't know how I'll make it until Ellie gets home."

Sarah's professional mask cracked, letting out a bright smile. "Yeah," said Chuck. Devon-stress was not like normal Earth-stress. "I can, well, um…tell you what, when I talk to Ellie I'll ask her for some tips."

"No, don't do that, dude," said Devon quickly. "I don't need awesome tips from an awesome mom. If I'm gonna be an awesome dad I have to figure out my own tips."

"That's the spirit, Devon," said Chuck. "Can't be awesome without being…"

They finished together. "Awesome."

* * *

Whatever Chuck and his team expected to see when they heard the airlocks cycling and the doors opening, it wasn't what they got when Manoosh finally made his appearance. He looked exactly the same as when he'd left the night before, except for the bright smile and the big box.

"Hey Chuck. Hey, guys," he said to his former teammates as they sat there, drinking coffee and looking at him. "I'm glad you're all here." He put the box on the table.

"Hey, Manoosh," said Chuck neutrally. "What's all this?"

"It's some stuff for you guys that I picked up." He opened the box, and started unloading vests, helmets, optics, and assorted hardware onto the table. "I hope it all fits. If it doesn't let me know the right size and I'll take it back."

"What do you mean, it's 'stuff for us'?" asked Casey, looking at the gear suspiciously. "Where'd you get all this?"

"From Verbanski Corp.," said Manoosh. "She was going to give me a signing bonus, but I figured you guys would need something to help keep you safe once I'm gone, so I got the gear instead. Except for the MonoTracer, of course, I got that for me. Gotta have something to get around in."

"You bought a MonoTracer?" asked Carina.

"Duh, of course I didn't buy it," scoffed Manoosh. "They're not legal in the US. But Verbanski owns a bunch of them for use outside the borders."

"So she just _gave_ you one?"

Manoosh hesitated. "Let's just say, assigned for my exclusive use. All electric, nice and green, and silent, so the bad guys won't hear me coming. Between the Intersect and the top speed I'll be coming pretty fast, too–!"

"You made a deal with Verbanski? Why?"

"Lots of reasons, Chuck," said Manoosh. "You saw how they broke all those windows at Sneijder's place. We're just lucky they didn't break anything else. With me around it won't be just luck anymore, and besides, with you around, you don't really need me here."

Chuck nodded. "All good, solid reasons.'

Manoosh winced. "Yeah, I know. They sounded good to me too, but the truth is, Chuck, that it's totally personal. I just can't work with you anymore."

Chuck put a hand on his chest, while Sarah said "Chuck?" The sweetest, nicest, kindest, most wonderful man in the world?

"Yes, him," said Manoosh. "Here we are, the two most powerful weapons on the planet, and you insist on letting these…cavemen tell us what to do when they shouldn't even _be_ there."

"And you think Verbanski won't?" snarled Casey.

"She's smart enough to know what I can do and let me do it."

"Somehow I doubt that," said Sarah. "She's smart, yes, but Gertrude Verbanski isn't the type to leave loose cannons just lying around."

"I'm not loose," said Manoosh. "I'm self-aiming."

"And self-launching," muttered Chuck into his coffee cup.

Carina gusted out a laugh. "Yeah, those are _so_ popular. Go on, ask me how I know this."

"That was a mistake," said Manoosh. To Chuck. "See, you were right, and I admit it. That's why I went to Verbanski, let the cavemen beat on the cavemen so I can save the Mona Lisa. This place doesn't have enough cavemen, and anyway they all listen to you, not to me."

"'Cause he makes sense," sneered Casey.

"Said the troll."

Casey rose out of his chair. "Fine, go. This team didn't need you before and we don't need you now. Just tell me one thing. What's your favorite flower?"

Manoosh looked confused. "Why do you want to know?"

"So I can send them to your funeral after you tell the General–both of them–that you're walking out on them."

"Hmm," said Manoosh. "About that…"

Chuck's phone began to ring.

* * *

"Shall I kill him, General?" asked Casey. "You know I will if you want me to."

"Thanks for the offer, Colonel, but that won't be necessary," said Beckman, sounding genuinely grateful. "Mr. Depak may not know the rules of the game but his new employer does."

"You're letting him go to work for Verbanski Corp.?" asked Chuck.

"Mr. Bartowski, short of carefully and meticulously disabling every possible employer Mr. Depak might approach in the DC area, there is nothing we can do to force him to work for us."

"He attempted to commit treason," said Casey.

"That ship has sailed, Colonel, thanks to his invaluable and exemplary service since that time. So, we will allow the experiment to continue under slightly altered circumstances. Miss Verbanski has been tasked with the oversight and reporting of Mr. Depak's behavior, without knowing the details of the project. Meanwhile, I'm sure your team has other matters to attend to."

Chuck felt his pocket, and the flash drive there. "Yes, ma'am."

"Then I suggest you attend to them." The call ended as abruptly as ever.

Casey pushed the phone towards Chuck with a disappointed grunt. "So he lives."

Sarah nodded. "I'll tell Carina it's safe to let Manoosh out of his room."

Casey scowled as she walked away. "What are they doing in there, playing patty-cake?"

"I hope not," said Chuck, bringing his computer out of hibernation.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have a dirty mind, Casey," said Carina, coming into the room with a rolled-up poster in her hand. She uncurled it a little, to show him the title of the most recent Transformers movie. "He flashed when he saw this, as Chuck expected." She rolled it back up and handed it over.

Chuck took it from there. "He got a headache, Carina gave him some aspirin, and suggested he lie down for a bit."

"Where the scanner is," finished Casey.

Carina touched the tip of her nose. Carefully, since it was real and she wanted it to stay that way.

Sarah came back into the room. "He's gone. Took all of his stuff, too."

"Make sure Ellie knows."

"Already done," said Sarah.

"Good riddance," said Casey. "Now what's this mission Beckman gave us?"

"Ironically enough, it was damage control," said Chuck, plugging the flash drive Manoosh had given him last night into the port. "The target's name is…oh, God."

"The Lord Almighty's a bit out of our league, Bartowski."

Chuck moved his window onto the big monitor without a word.

"The Amazing Spider-blog?" said Carina. "Is that even a thing?"

"It is if you're Manoosh," said Chuck. "He gave me the wrong flash-drive."

"And took the right one straight to Verbanski's office," said Casey. "The little traitor stole our mission."

* * *

Later, outside Verbanski Corp.'s main facility…

"There's only one thing more embarrassing than having our mission stolen out from under us by that ungrateful little worm," said Casey.

"And what's that?" asked Carina, quietly.

"Getting caught in the act stealing it back."

"If this is some new and subtle way of expressing the complete and absolute faith you have in my abilities," said Archer, lifting her bow, "Drop dead." She checked the wind again. "You see them?"

"I think so," said Casey, glad he had to wonder. "We should get the signal any–"

Something went tap-tap in their earpieces, and Carina loosed her arrows, silent, non-metallic, and tipped with enough Twilight gas to knock out any guards they had in the shack she was aiming for. Casey watched as the guards turned at the noise, but toppled before they could do anything else. "You're up," he said into his mike, as Carina put her gear in the back of their vehicle.

Chuck raced around the corner towards the guard shack, with Sarah not so close behind. He stopped outside the range of the camera watching the gate, and turned, joining his hands. Sarah kept coming, and when she reached her husband she stepped into his hands. He stood tall and straight, throwing her into the air, and over the fence. She tumbled to a stop, then went into the shack, disabled the camera, and unlocked the gate. By the time she and Chuck had finished setting the guards up in their chairs, Casey and Carina had already raced past them to secure a position in the motor pool. They restored the system and left the guards to wake up, unaware they'd ever been out, as they went to join their teammates.

In the back of the motor pool, Casey and Carina were stripping a number of unconscious bodies of their VC jackets and markers, the better to blend in. They split up, some going to take over the nearest security substation, while others went to Verbanski's office, and her safe.

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski sent her newest employee to his training class, and stepped into her office. She paused by the door, her every sense alert. Something was wrong, even though nothing was out of place, and she trusted her instincts. She stalked her own office like it was enemy territory, scanning, listening, smelling. Tobacco. Someone had recently opened her cigar box!

* * *

An entire squad ringed the training circle, hands gloved and heads padded, waiting. Manoosh stepped into the circle, no gloves, no headgear. "Okay gentlemen, here are the rules. You attack me however you like. When I hit you three times, you stay down."

"What happens if I…one of us hits you three times? Sir?" asked a brave soul.

Manoosh just smiled, and gestured the man forward.

* * *

Verbanski approached the mirrored door that disguised her closet, standing slightly open. "Is that a flash drive in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

The door slammed open, forcing Gertrude to throw herself backward to avoid injury. "I don't flash just anyone," said Sarah, pouncing on her 'enemy' and putting her into an arm lock.

Gertrude smashed her head back, pulling out Sarah's loosened grip."Too bad you're not John," said Verbanski, reversing their positions and throwing Sarah against the wall. "This would be a lot more fun." She pulled the flash drive from Sarah's hand.

Sarah pushed off from the wall, and they both fell over a chair. "Bit of a dilemma for the poor guy, don't you think?" She held up the flash drive and put it into a pocket, zipping it shut. She lifted a hand and beckoned Gertrude forward.

* * *

Casey and Carina waited patiently, as Manoosh quickly and methodically defeated every other man in the circle around him. They attacked him singly, and in groups, and then in bunches, but not in the thing that mattered most. When there was no one else left , they stepped forward together. When Casey attacked, Carina was there to take advantage of Manoosh's obvious counter-move. She scored the first hit of the day.

"Oo, teamwork," said Manoosh. "About time."

* * *

Gertrude's office had seen better days. Sarah had the strength and agility, while Gertrude had the experience and the home field advantage. The carpet, for example, was fairly well-behaved when you walked across it with shoes that had been treated as Verbanski's had been. To Sarah's shoes, on the other hand, it was a bit…grabbier.

Sarah took a step forward and her feet failed to slide as she expected, and she overbalanced. Gertrude grabbed her flailing arm and brought it around behind her back, cuffing her opponent's wrists. She rolled Sarah over, reaching for her zippered pocket. "Better luck next time."

Sarah pulled her arms forward, gripping Gertrude's shoulders and kicking up with her legs, flipping Gertrude over to crash on the floor. Before Verbanski knew what hit her she was standing by the railing to her office space, wearing her own cuffs. "I prefer this time," said Sarah.

* * *

The score was tied, two to four, and Manoosh was keeping his distance. "You guys are good," he said.

"They should be," said Chuck, standing behind him.

Manoosh lunged forward and turned, to keep all his enemies in sight. On either side, Casey and Carina stripped off their helmets to show their faces. "We've trained with a real Intersect often enough," said Casey.

"I'll show you real," said Manoosh. He lifted his wrist-com and said, "We've got a breach!"

* * *

**A/N2 **After I came up with the Amazing Spider-Blog, I checked to see if there was one. There's a defunct website for one, that says it moved, but I have no idea where it moved to. In any event, my reference here has no relation to it or any other blog with that title.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N **A little hard to plot this chapter out. Manoosh's problems are very different from Morgan's and resolving them is trickier. I had some ideas for ways to go but the story didn't go those ways, so it's a little different from what I expected. And a few little goodies for you Archer fans. Some brilliantly racy banter in that show.

* * *

"_It was only one train car." _

"_I just can't work with you anymore."_

"_The little traitor stole our mission."_

"_We've got a breach!"_

* * *

Gertrude pulled futilely against her own cuffs, but she'd stocked the good ones. The railing, too, was a high-quality construction, no way she'd break that either. "You won't make it to the gate before my men stop you."

"The same men who were supposed to keep us out?" asked Sarah, patting the pocket with the drive in it.

_Keep talking._ Gertrude felt along the inside of her belt for the key she kept there. "I'm not a thief," she said. "I would have given the drive back to you."

"Yes, I noticed how you turned your back on a multimillion-dollar bounty and the potential government contracts, and just let me walk out the door with our property," snarked Sarah. "No wait, that didn't happen, did it?"

"You invaded my office."

Sarah shrugged, as if penetrating to the heart of Verbanski Corp. was no big deal. "You didn't leave the drive at the front gate, with an apology."

"Fine," snapped Verbanski, not looking forward to being discovered like this in her own office. _Oh, well. _It'd be good for a lesson plan, if nothing else. "Take it and get out of here."

"One second," said Sarah. "I've got two things to do, first." She came close and knelt by Gertrude's feet, loosening one boot.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sarah didn't answer. Instead she held up a handcuff key, which had been in Gertrude's belt until a few minutes ago. "You can stop looking for this." She put it on the floor.

"You know I can reach that," said Gertrude. Once she got that boot off. And the sock.

"Of course you can," said Sarah, standing up. "But you'd have to lower yourself to do it, and that may take a while." She turned and walked away, but stopped when she saw the plaque on the nearest trophy case. 'Taken from John Casey, Minsk, 1995.' She scanned the room. No trophy was closer to her desk than this one. "Place of honor, I see." She lifted the gun from the rack, checked the action. Everything worked as smoothly as if it had been cleaned yesterday.

Gertrude looked away. "You gonna…take it back to him?"

"No," said Sarah, putting it carefully back. "That's your job." She headed for the door, but she hadn't made it to the door before Verbanski's phone announced, "We've got a breach!"

* * *

Down in the training yard…

"You call that real?" asked Carina. "Calling for a horde of cavemen to fight your battles, the second a real Intersect shows up?"

"Let's not go overboard," mumbled Chuck.

"I am a real Intersect!"

"Not by half, Pinocchio," said Casey.

"Chuck's smart enough to know what he can't so," said Carina.

"What he shouldn't do," said Casey.

"And to know when he needs a team," said Sarah from behind him.

As Manoosh turned again, the loudspeaker barked, "We've had a breach!" Verbanski had no trouble lowering herself when no one was around to see it. Unfortunately the people closest to the breach were all unconscious.

Manoosh looked at his former teammates. "You came for the drive."

"We didn't come for _you_, if that's what you mean," said Casey.

A caveman's disdain didn't bother Manoosh one bit, but he hoped that Chuck would…well, never mind. He glared at Sarah. "Give it back!"

She pulled out her tranq gun. "No."

As Manoosh flashed on attack techniques, Chuck stepped up and pulled Manoosh's shorts down around his ankles.

Manoosh looked down. "What?" he rounded on Chuck. "You pantsed the Intersect?"

"No, " said Chuck, "I pantsed a little guy with superpowers."

Manoosh flashed, his eyes rolling up farther in his head than usual. He shuffled forward, mumbling, "Curse you, Aqua-scum!" His shorts caught his feet, and he started to fall. Chuck, being Chuck, caught him before he could break anything, and laid him out on the ground. As members of the Yellow and Red teams appeared in the yard, armed and ready if mildly confused, they took off for the gate, tranqing everything in their way, including the two guards who'd just woken up.

* * *

Later, back at CI, while Casey and Carina were scanning the mission data…

"I can't believe I just left him," said Chuck.

Sarah, sitting next to him on the narrow bunk in his berth, gave him a hug. "He made his choice," she said, seating herself in his lap and kissing him when that observation didn't seem to have any effect. "He made that bed…"

"Training yard," corrected Chuck, "And I left him lying in it. What kind of friend am I? I wouldn't have left Morgan like that."

"Morgan wouldn't have betrayed you."

"Not now," agreed Chuck, "But there was this one time–"

_What? _"When?"

"Seventh grade."

Ancient history. Water under the bridge. "You have to go that far back?"

"Mm-hmm. He grew this thick, perfect mustache, and got all Dark-Lord on us. Believe me, Morgan going 'Dark Lord' is pretty ugly."

"So what happened?" asked Sarah, when he stopped talking.

Chuck smiled. "He got pantsed in front our entire gym class by a girl. Hard to be a Dark Lord in your underwear."

Or an Intersect. "So that's why you…?" Sarah gestured over her shoulder.

"I couldn't let him hurt you, but I didn't want to hurt him, either."

Sarah snuggled in closer, bestowing a firmer kiss. "And that's why you're my hero." Someone knocked on the door, and Sarah dropped her head onto his shoulder. "Dammit."

Chuck laughed softly in her ear. "Hold that thought."

"Believe me," growled Sarah, her head coming up again, "That's not what I plan to hold." She scowled fiercely at the door. "Come!"

"Phrasing!" said Carina from the hall.

Sarah shook her head. "I mean, enter!"

"You talking to him or me?" said Carina.

Sarah groaned in frustration. "Just get in here already."

Carina opened the door and stuck her head into the room. "Okay, spoilsport. Anyway, since you're both still dressed, you really should come out here and listen to this."

Sarah started to stand. "This had better be important."

"It's more important than what you were _about_ to do, Mrs. Eight-Weeks-and-Counting. Come on."

When Chuck and Sarah went out to the briefing room, neither Casey nor Carina was paying any attention to the downloaded data from the stolen drive. Instead, they were both waiting impatiently at the main console. The screen showed the frozen image of the inside of Gertrude's office. "All right, Casey, we're here. What's this about?"

"It's about time," said Casey. "Listen to this." He clicked a button and the picture started to move.

Verbanski had hung her coat on a rack, but she and her 'guest' were plainly visible. "_Your performance today was less than what I expected, Mr. Depak_."

"_I'm sorry, Miss Verbanski_," said Manoosh. "_They were my teammates once…"_

"_And your friends. I understand."_

"_It's not that, Miss Verbanski,"_ said Manoosh. "_They train with Chuck. They know all my moves." _Gertrude cleared her throat. _"Well, that's all behind us now. This company has a strong relationship with Carmichael Industries, and that's a good reason for us to keep it that way_," she said. "_But this is a business where loyalties can shift, so it is even more important to know where we stand. You work for me, and I expect you to fight for this team's interests, even against your old team, is that clear?"_

Manoosh fidgeted. "_Then…I guess I should tell you about the bug?"_

Casey hit Pause. "I learned a few new curses, but there's nothing useful after that." He killed the playback entirely. "I'm dead to her now."

Even Carina had the grace to look sad about that. "Don't worry, Casey," said Chuck. "I broke this, I'll fix it."

"Do me a favor, Bartowski," said Casey, launching himself out of his seat, agitated. He needed to kill something, even if it was just a paper target. "Stop trying to do me favors."

* * *

Later, at an outdoor café…

"Thanks for meeting me, Ellie," said Sarah.

"Believe me, your invitation couldn't have come at a better time," said Ellie, sitting down. "Dad and I have been working on trying to figure out what's happening with Manoosh, but it's hard to make any progress without real data."

"So that scanner data from this morning…?"

"A big help, really," said Ellie. "What I wouldn't give to get him back in the lab, but…you know they're watching us now, don't you?"

"I spotted your tail as you came in," said Sarah. She'd have one of her own when she left. Hopefully whatever Beckman had planned to get the DoD off their backs it would be soon, she was tired of dodging these guys. She lifted a menu to shield her lips. "You heard he's at VC now?"

Ellie lifted her menu too. She'd never eaten here before. "Mm-hmm."

"Well, I have some news you wouldn't have heard yet."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at CI…

Chuck was alone. Casey was out scoping the site where the helicopter would be coming in, and Carina knew of a nice little costume shop for the uniforms, although Chuck didn't want to know _how_ she knew of it. He sat at his desk, doing what he usually did when Sarah wasn't around, playing on his computer. He'd lost Sneijder to Verbanski, and he'd lost Manoosh to her as well, but he had the data to console himself with. With Sneijder in custody and his computers seized, there really was no reason for him to look at the data, but Karl played in an international sandbox with some very nasty playmates. This data would eventually end up in an upload, where it would be work, but for now it was the Piranha's turn to come out and play.

* * *

"That's very disturbing information," said Ellie.

"I know," said Sarah. "The Manoosh I know wouldn't call us cavemen."

"Then you don't know Manoosh," said Ellie, to whom the little man was much more forthcoming, in the many hours they spent together. Ellie didn't punish him for being honest, so he was. "The only difference is that now he believes he can get away with saying it."

"So why do you find it disturbing?"

"I don't," said Ellie. "But he admires Chuck, and respects him. What could be happening to change that? Not to mention the unconsciousness." Ellie's phone rang, and she checked the display. "Speak of the devil." She put the phone on the table and hit Accept. "Dad?"

"Ellie? I have the answer!"

"That's great, Dad," Ellie replied. "What's the question?"

"I know what's causing the fainting spells."

Ellie looked at Sarah. "And here I was, just not mentioning them. Sarah's here with me."

Sarah put her signal disrupter on the table next to phone, in case anyone was listening in. "Hi, Stephen."

"I told you, call me Dad."

While he was bugging her bracelet. Which they stole. Because he bugged it. "You act like a Dad, I'll call you Dad."

"Okay, a) I've never known how to be a Dad," said Orion. "And b) it's been twenty years since I had a chance to practice."

"And c)," said Ellie, "We're talking about Manoosh's fainting spells."

"Fine," said Sarah.

"We were looking at the symptoms collectively," said Stephen, moving on. "The fainting spells have no relation to the behavioral changes. They're a physical response to the functioning of the Intersect in his brain."

"Why would it take so long to see them?" asked Sarah. "In other Intersect trials the response was immediate." And usually fatal.

"Manoosh designed the glasses," said Ellie. "And he used himself as a test subject."

"For a single skill," said her father. "Not all of them, or skills with data components, and it's the data portion that's doing the damage. Remember how Chuck suffered after the Ring shut down his brain?"

The ladies shared a glance at what they hoped was a rhetorical question. Neither of them would ever forget that pain-filled time. "Go on."

"The skills are distributed throughout the body, and from the look of the code they have some rudimentary fail-safes built in, to prevent harm. Manoosh's glasses have hardware fail-safes for the same purpose."

"You think they're affecting each other?"

"I think so, but not in the right ways, or not enough," said Orion. "His nervous system is overloading, and each time he gets weaker. He needs to stop using the Intersect, otherwise it'll kill him."

* * *

"We have to save him," said Chuck, as they took positions on the roof. All of their plans boiled down to that truth, that endgame.

"Have to find him first," said Casey, scanning the roof with a night-vision scope. They'd tried to call her with the information, get her to bench Manoosh until the deadly Intersect could be removed, but she'd already left her base and had gone dark. "They had the same information we did. Knowing Gertrude, this is the most logical capture point. Wherever they are now, I'll bet dollars to donuts they'll be here for the main event."

"You think maybe they're going after Zorn directly?" asked Carina. "He's running late, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Chuck. "According to Beckman's intel, he doesn't stay in one place very long."

Casey grunted a negative. "Too many pinch points, as your mother would say. Elevator failure, multiple stairwells. But no matter how many different routes he has, they all come out here, so here is where we wait."

"The heli's late too," said Chuck. "No point in coming up until it's here. We just have to get to it before she does, after it lands." Because what made more sense, to evac through a crowded hotel, or from a roof that has a fueled helicopter waiting for them?

"I hear it," said Carina.

"Over there," said Chuck, and they all moved behind some air-handling installations as the heli flew up alongside the building, aiming for the pad. This simplified things for them. Grab the chopper, and trade it for Manoosh. Gertrude could have the bounty, they'd only have to turn it back in anyway.

The heli touched down and the blades slowed, as the crew disembarked. _Now!_

Chuck, Carina, and Casey appeared as one, training their weapons on–

Gertrude Verbanski and Company. Crap. They must have taken the heli at the other end, which …actually made a lot of sense, if you had a guy who could just download a flight program for a any make or model into his head. So not good.

"Agent Charles," said Gertrude, her own weapon drawn "What happened, couldn't defeat me without listening in on my plans?"

Chuck lowered his gun. "That's not why I had Casey plant the bug, Gertrude. I didn't want to spy on you, I have no interest in your client list." He stepped from behind the machinery, put the gun into its holster.

She didn't. "Then why do it?"

"Because Carmichael Industries isn't a company, it's a mission," said Chuck, holding up his empty hands. "A mission that had to look like a company, and after what happened at SAFE, it had to look like a very good company."

Her gun went off line. "So you bugged me as a gesture of respect?" said Gertrude, incredulous. Then her grip tightened, the gun coming back up. "Why should I believe you?"

A door opened behind Chuck, but he didn't move, trusting his team to handle whatever was coming up behind him.

Gertrude didn't move either. "Manoosh? Get Zorn, take him back." Gunfire erupted as Zorn's men tried to protect their employer. Bullets flew everywhere. One of them hit the side of the helicopter. No one noticed.

Before Manoosh could begin to flash, Chuck shouted out, "Manoosh, no! You'll die!"

Manoosh glowered at Chuck suspiciously. "What do you mean, I'll die? There's nothing wrong with me."

"Stop shooting," shouted a strange voice, had to be Zorn's, from behind Chuck. "What do you want?"

"Carina, take him," he said.

"Phrasing!" she shouted.

"Arrest him, that is. Arrest him." Gertrude ran after her, to stake her claim, and may the best bounty hunter win.

"It's not you, Manoosh," said Chuck, now that Verbanski was out earshot. "It's the Intersect. Doctor and Orion have been studying the skills for days, trying to figure out what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me that getting away from _you_ didn't cure!"

"What about your fainting spells?"

"I wasn't fainting, that was _you_ shooting me with tranq darts whenever I was about to show you up."

"No, Manoosh," said Chuck, reaching into his coat. The helicopter engine started up, the blades beginning to spin. Manoosh turned and saw Mats Zorn in the pilot seat, making a break for it.

"Zorn!" called Chuck, and Manoosh looked back at him. Chuck pulled out one of Casey's Desert Eagles.

Manoosh's eyes got wide. Chuck never used a real gun. "Chuck?"

Chuck put a bullet in the engine cowl, and the engine started to grind. He put away the gun and pulled out his phone. "Out of the helicopter, Zorn," he said, tapping the screen.

Manoosh looked at the hole spilling black smoke. Wow! That was so…elegant! "Chuck! That was–"

"Here you go, Manoosh." Chuck tossed his phone to the other man. The screen showed Alex McHugh's face, her number dialing.

Manoosh put it to his ear. "Alex? No, it's, it's Manoosh..Alex, please, no, I'm not going to die!... Ellie? What are you doing there? Did Chuck put you up to…No, I guess he can't, can he?" He winked at Chuck. "You have readouts?...The scanner? When did you get scans–?...My bedroom? She was in my bedroom and I missed it?...Of course I'll take a look, I love that thing!"

Mats Zorn stood there, looking at Manoosh chatting on the phone, and everybody fighting. "Please," he said to Chuck, "Take me to jail. You people are all a bunch of maniacs!"

Chuck gave him a lopsided grin. "Would you believe this is one of our _good_ days?"

* * *

Carina and Gertrude went halfsies on the arrest, with Carina, predictably, choosing the guy, leaving the case and all its documents to Gertrude. Chuck let them sort it out, waiting for Manoosh to give him his phone back.

"A-hem," said Gertrude, standing behind him with the case.

"Oh," said Chuck, startled. "Uh, yeah." He took the phone and backed off. "Sorry." He didn't want to know anything about this conversation.

"You guys okay?" he asked everybody on the other side of the roof, regardless of team. They were all on the same side, after all. Casey grunted an Okay. The guy he'd been beating up on grunted a less-than-okay.

Casey made a face, sniffing the wind. "What's that smell?"

* * *

The last of the aviation fuel dripped out of the hole that had been put into the tank, which was now empty. The flammable liquid streamed out across the roof, until it hit an exposed wire from one of the lights surrounding the platform.

The line of fuel flared up, fed by the wind into a wall of flame. Gertrude Verbanski leaped back away from the threat, banging her head on the wall of the helicopter.

Manoosh saw her go down and looked for help, for Chuck, and saw everyone on the far side of the flames. The fire was sweeping toward him, them, following the stream back to its source.

He pulled Verbanski's limp body over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, not the Intersect, just VC-standard training. Case in hand, he staggered toward the wall of flames. Over the crackle of the fire and the roar of the wind he heard Carina shout, "Chuck! Baby!" and he knew there would be no help from that quarter.

A coat flopped down in front of him, making a temporary gap in the fire. Casey's coat, Casey's shout. "This whole roof's gonna blow!"

Manoosh staggered over the bridge even as it burned and delivered Gertrude into Casey's arms, barely able to breathe. Casey grabbed her and her rescuer, pulling them both to the edge of the platform and safety, as the full second tank of the helicopter blew up.

* * *

Casey left the little guy on the roof, with Chuck looking after him. He went back to Gertrude, sitting up and rubbing her head. "What happened?" she asked.

"Little runt saved your life," said Casey, nodding at Manoosh. He handed her Zorn's case. "And your bounty." He reached into his pocket. "Here," he said, handing her a flash drive. "Everything we got from that bug. No phone calls were overheard and all the documents were blurred out. I wouldn't let them spy on you."

Verbanski pulled him in for a kiss with a grip of steel. "I know."

* * *

Manoosh focused on breathing. "Chuck?" Wheeze. "Sorry. For. Every." Wheeze. " Thing."

Chuck was calling up Devon's number on his phone. Gertrude's less-than-okay associate had been sent down to get whatever first aid they had available, especially an oxygen bottle, but they could use all the professional medical advice they could get. "Manoosh, don't try to talk. Just breathe."

"Wanted. To be. Like." Wheeze. "_You._"

Chuck took Manoosh's hand in his own. "You are, buddy. You are."

* * *

**A/N2 **I decided to use the problems Chuck had with the 2.0 in S3, as the basis for the problems Manoosh has, slightly modified for the context. He's been protected from the overheating aspects by a number of factors but that won't last much longer.

Oil fumes are no joke. Chuck and Casey should have been on their knees gasping for air, but it's hard to look heroic that way. Even sillier was the idea that both Morgan and Gertrude would be stunned by a wall of flame.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N **The last part of the canon episode was mostly wrap-up, Casey's first date with Gertrude, Jeff making his polished appearance, Morgan looking for a place to live, etc., along with a little bit to set up the next episode.

So this chapter will likely be a) short, and b) mostly original plotting, to set up the next episode.

* * *

"_That didn't happen, did it?" _

"_I guess I should tell you about the bug?"_

"_We have to save him."_

"_You are, buddy. You are."_

* * *

On a street in Washington DC, getting closer to the FBI main building at frightening speed…

"Please…" begged the man in the passenger seat.

The driver took her hand off the wheel and put it over his lips. "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" She grabbed the wheel again. "Yes, hello. This is Carina Miller, DEA, with a priority prisoner in custody. Wherever your Director is, whatever he's doing, patch me through to him right now."

"Please," whimpered Mats Zorn, her prisoner, cuffed and belted in, as secure as they could make him. "Slow down. You drive like you fight."

Carina muted her microphone. "Thank you."

"I don't think that was supposed to be a compliment," said the Verbanski guy in the back seat, holding the prisoner's case.

Zorn yelped and closed his eyes, as Carina turned her head and flashed her mercenary counterpart a grin, without slowing. "What else could it be?"

* * *

In a tiny hotel room, far away from exploding helicopters…

"You don't think he'll rat us out, do you?"

There were only four women involved in this whole debacle–herself, Agent Miller, the poor steward lady being held incommunicado with the rest of the flight crew at the fueling station, and the motherly lieutenant holding her there, with the rest of Blue Team–but even so Gertrude had no problem figuring out who 'he' was. "Hmm, the hotel manager, he seemed so nice," she teased, pulling him further into the small room. "You don't mean that cute bellhop?"

"No bags," said Casey, plucking the cap off her head. The things that stay on during a firefight. "No bellhop." He tossed the cap over his shoulder. "And we went out of our way to _avoid_ the manager." Who was holding the bag at ground zero, and would be glad to offer up anyone else to blame, so they left him out of the loop. Unfortunately, someone had to process her credit card. "But desk clerks are always looking for some extra income."

A desk clerk in DC? He'd give them up in a second, for the right price, but…"Not while we're here," said Gertrude. Not with the reek of smoke and sweat and the smell of violence still fresh in his nostrils. One man's reek is another female mercenary's perfume, and she breathed it in. "Once we're gone, maybe, but my marketing department is already modifying our contingency plans."

"You planned for this?" said Casey incredulously, tugging gently on her scarf, pulling it from around her neck. "_I_ didn't even plan for this, and I've worked with Chuck for years."

She smiled, as if he'd paid her a compliment. She'd only worked with and against Agent Charles for a little while, but even so, she'd learned to prepare for the unexpected. She liked success. "Thank you." John had already lost his uniform jacket to the fire, so Gertrude undid his tie instead. "We have press releases for either failure or success drawn up before we even go in."

As she lowered her arms, Casey pushed her uniform jacket off her shoulders. "What about both at the same time?"

She let it slide to the floor, leaving the tie in one of the sleeves. "They could use a challenge."

He fiddled with the tiny buttons of her blouse with his large fingers. "So can I."

She ripped his shirt open. "I get enough of those at work."

* * *

Manoosh opened his eyes. Why was the room…moving? "Chuck?" he said weakly. The mask on his face didn't help, muffling his voice, but people in respiratory distress weren't supposed to be having long-winded conversations anyway.

Chuck barely heard him, over the sound of the siren and the amazing amount of noise the ambulance made. He looked at his fellow nerd's face, saw Manoosh looking at him. "You shouldn't be trying to talk."

Manoosh wasn't about to argue the matter. "What's…happening?" He remembered very little from the roof, focused on his breathing. There was shouting, a lot of noise, and the world moving around him a lot, but he didn't try to process any of it.

"Carina and that Verbanski guy are bringing Zorn in. We're in an ambulance, taking us, and I mean you, to the hospital where Surgeon works," said Chuck. "We got an oxygen bottle on you, from the hotel's first aid kit, and you passed out. The paramedics brought you down to the ambulance and here we are." He left out the circus, the emergency services, the government containment specialists, the news media, and in the middle of it all, the hotel manager. Chuck was so glad he wasn't in _that_ guy's shoes right now. "They had to call for a bunch more, what with you, and all the bodyguards."

Chuck leaned in close. "To be honest, I think Verbanski sent her man with Carina just to get him out of her hair. I know Casey got them a room for them to–" air quotes "–'wait in', until the other half of her team arrived. That might take a while, since they have to figure out what to do with the original crew, but I think Casey and Gertrude will manage to occupy their time."

Manoosh made a choking sound.

Chuck looked, but he wasn't choking. "What? He's not a robot. Besides, They couldn't risk being seen. Casey wouldn't want the exposure, and there's no way Gertrude would want to be known as the damsel in distress in all this."

Manoosh started to cough.

"Exactly," said Chuck. "Don't worry, she's got people on top of people. Once they pull together a story, you just grunt, cough and nod."

Manoosh sagged.

Chuck could sympathize. "I hear you," he said. Those first few times, he'd also wished he could trumpet his achievements from the rooftops, until Zarnow came to his house, and La Ciudad came to his job. As the Piranha, he'd learned to value invisibility instead, and he applied that mindset to his physical work. If people knew what he'd done, then he'd failed to do it right. "We all know what you did, and Gertrude knows what you did. Pretty soon Sarah, Beckman, Ellie, Hannah, and Alex will too." Suddenly Chuck laughed. "Even Zorn knows, but Carina's taking him to the FBI right now, so, no help there." Chuck shrugged. "You'll come out of this all right."

* * *

Elsewhere, at an R-A-M in Silver Springs…

"It's been two days, Mr. Decker," said Vivian severely. "Mr. Carmichael could have found the Piranha by now."

"Cute," said Decker, "But unlikely." He waved his hand dismissively. "With my resources, two days is adequate time to _find_ the Piranha, if by 'find' you mean city and state. Two days is barely enough time to begin to create the trap that will bring him to you. Us."

Her problems were his problems, or didn't he realize that? Perhaps he needed a reminder. "And why is that?"

He grinned at her. "Because we need the Piranha to build it."

She did not grin back. "You've lost your mind."

"The Piranha will see through any trap we try to set," said Decker, sketching a circle on the bar top. "The only way to trap him is to leave the bait–" he put down his drink "–in plain sight, and let his own creative paranoia build the trap around it." He moved a lot of bottles and glasses into a loose circle. "Only when he believes he's solved the trap that he himself created will he feel safe to go after the bait. That's when we strike." He reached out to pick up his glass.

Vivian pressed her hand down on top of his, pinning it, and the glass, in place. "By defeating himself, he'll give us the means to defeat him."

Decker pulled his drink out from under her hand. "Correct."

"Excellent," said Vivian, imagining the look in her victim's eyes when he learned the truth. Her father had always said that his victims doomed themselves, unable to control their lust for…for… "What is the bait?"

* * *

Heart surgeons aren't normally seen in the emergency room, so when the same heart surgeon made his second appearance in less than a month, they noticed. The same tall, blond, handsome, Nordic God heart surgeon, even more so.

He carried a picture of his wife in his wallet, showed it to everyone. Some of the more predatory nurses had convinced themselves it was a ploy to keep them at bay. Then a woman who looked just like the photograph appeared in the ward, very pregnant and very ill. Later they heard it was poison, but they never found out what kind.

They did find out that the photo wasn't a ploy, but he didn't show it anymore. He showed the photos of his new daughter to everyone, instead.

They remembered the tall guy who came in with the wife, too. When _he_ came in a second time, with someone _else_ on a stretcher, and the security staff running interference, _again_, no one stopped him commandeering a private room, or paging the doctor he'd dealt with before. Only the Billing Department wanted or _would_ want to have anything to do with it, and they weren't on call tonight.

It was nice to see Dr. Woodcombe again, though.

* * *

"So who's idea was this, anyway?" asked Ellie, bringing some herbal tea into the living room. At this time of night she didn't need any more caffeine, and Sarah shouldn't have it for a lot longer than that.

"Mine," said her pregnant sister-in-law. "Or at least Chuck wanted me to think so."

"He's pretty transparent, isn't he?" said Ellie, setting the mugs down. "He's just trying to spare you from fretting over a simple operation."

"I'm perfectly capable of multi-tasking," said Sarah, sipping her beverage and trying not to make a face. This was her life now. "I can fret while talking about babies. Just watch me."

"Let me get my books," said Ellie. She got up and went into the spare room, where all the obsolete baby-related materials were kept, against the day when she or someone near and dear to her heart might need them.

"I'm just glad you still have them," said Sarah from the living room. "Chuck was all set to buy his own."

"That would have been a waste," said Ellie, simply to say something. He must be freaking out, but she wasn't going to say that to his wife, on top of her other concerns. After so many years of living hand-to-mouth the way they had, wasting money on books they already owned should have never occurred to him. Or maybe that was just his definition of luxury, like hers was being able to hold on to stuff she liked simply because she liked it.

Her phone rang, so she put the books down to answer it. "Hello?"

"Ellie, it's Hannah. Is Sarah there with you? Say 'yes' or 'no'."

Ellie could think of a few reasons why Hannah would call her about Sarah, and none of them were good. "Yes."

Hannah continued with the directives. "Whatever you do, keep her away from the news."

"We're studying my old baby books," said Ellie, recovering from her confusion.

"Great."

"Who are you talking to?" asked Sarah.

Ellie pulled the phone away from her mouth. "Hannah." She spoke into the phone. "Why don't you come over, we'll have a baby-party."

Confident tone completely gone. "…I just got back from my honeymoon…"

Ellie pushed harder. "Well, isn't that just perfect timing, then."

Whimper. "But…"

"Great," said the General. "We'll see you in a few. Bye, now."

* * *

Diane Beckman wasn't working late, exactly, but a person in her position never really took time off, even at home in her own living room. Even the evening news was a chance to observe her work from the outside. If she saw her own hand in anything they brought up on the news, it meant she'd done something wrong. Or at least it used to, back when the news was news. Still, it had its amusing aspects.

Surprisingly, the main focus tonight was on a helicopter explosion. "I must say, this is unexpected," said Roan, standing behind her with two glasses of wine.

Diane reached up and selected one of the glasses, taking a sip. "I'll say."

Roan moved the chair he usually used, and sat. "Have you heard from Charles?"

"Charles?" said Diane. "Charles who?"

"Ah, yes," said Roan, touching his glass to hers. "My apologies."

The screen blanked, announcing an incoming communication, which she of course accepted. The face of her aide appeared. "General, we have a situation."

* * *

The door know rattled. And rattled some more. Finally it opened, and a hand reached into the room and fumbled for the light switch. Eventually it found the switch and the room became illuminated. The door pushed open a little wider, as whoever opened it tried to move backward into the room. At precisely the moment when her lips crossed the invisible dividing line between hall and room, the man kissing her so fiercely, so ardently, suddenly stopped.

"Morgan?" asked Alex. "We're here, you don't have to stop."

"But Alex, weren't you listening when Mrs. Pendergast said she didn't want to see us kissing in our rooms anymore? Where else am I supposed to kiss you?"

"You goof," Alex laughed, smacking him on the arm."She didn't mean in the hall, she meant with the door closed, silly." She pulled him into her room, closed the door, and was moving in for the kill when her phone rang. "Dammit. Hold that thought." She walked past him, trying to get some privacy, just in case.

Morgan, eyes closed, and lips puckered, blinked, unpuckered, and said, "Huh?" He turned around as Alex accepted the call.

"McHugh secure…Yes, sir?...yes, sir…right away." Her shoulders slumped, and she turned around, to see Morgan sitting on a chair as far from her as he could. "I have to go," she said regretfully.

He stood, and got his coat. "Call of Duty?" For John Casey's daughter, duty would always come first. He could live with that. For him, she would always come first.

"Two hours of Laser Tag wasn't enough for you?" she asked, her voice thick with frustration. _It was for me._ She pulled him in for a searing kiss. "I'll be back. As soon as I can."

"I'll be here."

"Wait for me."

"Of course I will."

She grabbed his collar, and stared into his eyes. "I mean it, _wait_ for me."

For a moment Morgan looked blank. Then suddenly, "_Oh…_"

* * *

Back in the house where Evil dwelled…

'What is the bait?' _Wouldn't you like to know?_ Decker swirled the ice in his glass, took a sip. "That's the best part."

She waited, but he didn't say anything more. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Miss Volkoff, we are all contributing members of the Triangulum," said Decker. "We don't ask where or how you acquire your money. In return, we expect you not to be too curious about how we acquire our…intelligence."

"If we are a triumvirate, then who's the third?" Not Mr. Delgado, surely.

"Infrastructure," said Decker, "And that's all you need to know. Eventually you will need to know more–" unless he could cut her out before then "–but for now you don't. Suffice it to say, that your hunt for the Piranha should feed into our other plans quite nicely."

The door rattled under a flurry of knocks. "Miss Volkoff. Miss Volkoff!" Of course it was Mr. Carmichael. Thomas wouldn't have bothered to knock.

"You may enter," said Vivian. There was no evidence of their scheming, except for the circle of bottles, and that could mean anything.

Carmichael threw open the door, laptop in hand. "You have to see this." He set the computer on the bar, pushing the glasses and whatnot out of the way, as Decker and Vivian took positions for viewing. Carmichael pressed play, and stepped backward.

Vivian stared at the screen, eyes growing wider, and colder. "Oh. My. God."

* * *

Morgan went back to his room, disappointed. The Laser Tag had been a good idea, he really had to thank Sam for suggesting it. Alex looked like she was having fun, too, even more than he'd expected, until that phone call.

_On the other hand, she _is_ Casey's daughter, maybe I _should_ have expected it._

Now was not the time to be thinking about that. Anything but that, in fact. He'd been hoping to bring up an idea he'd been thinking about for a while now, but the mood was all gone. Ruined, and he'd given it his best shot. Now he needed better than his best.

He needed Chuck.

* * *

General Beckman locked herself in her study, and activated her monitor. The screen showed a split image, two men looking less than pleased to be talking to her at this time of night. "Mr. Chairman, Mr. Secretary," she said with a cordial nod. "What can I do for you?"

* * *

The Director's office looked strange without his assistant guarding the gates. Alex tapped lightly on his door.

"Come in," said her boss. When she entered, she saw several other people in the room. On the Director's desk, a silver case sat opened. "You know everyone here, don't you, Agent McHugh?"

Yes she did, and they all outranked her. Some of them even outranked him. "What can I do for you, sir?"

He spun the case around to face her, and she took the hint, approaching the desk. Inside the case she saw a modern laptop, the CD tray wide open. In the tray sat a CD, labeled in her own handwriting. She lifted the lid on the laptop, and the screen lit, showing a frozen image of her, holding a strange-looking gun.

"We have Mats Zorn in custody, but it seems he didn't wait to upload this video to his servers."

The director pushed the lid down, and took the disk. Fishing in his desk he found an empty case, and put it away. "So the question is not what you can do for us, since it seems you've already done quite enough." His wave included all the others in the room. "The question is, what do we do about you?"

* * *

"Kill them," said Vivian, calmly. She'd watched the video through, twice. She'd counted her breaths, counted her heart's beats, counted the number of people that had to involved in this travesty, at least five. And when she could trust herself to speak calmly, as a Volkoff ought, she'd spoken. "Find out who they are and kill them all." She put a finger on the screen, a face. "Start with her."

* * *

**A/N2 **Okay, not as short as I thought.

Devon got a scene mainly because he had that bit with Jeff in canon, so I figured he should have something to hark back to that. I don't actually know if heart surgeons appear in the Emergency Room much, it seemed like the sort of thing they'd do for admitted patients.


	33. Greatest Hits

**A/N **I didn't plan on using Alex' video for anything, but I needed a good reason to have a hit order taken out on someone.

* * *

"_You planned for this?" _

"_We all know what you did."_

"_Charles who?"_

"_Start with her."_

* * *

He endured it all with good grace, the poking, the prodding. The gown, under which he was, shall we say, _cha-cha._ He was short enough that the gown did a good job hiding what he wanted to stay hidden, but that was a small consolation for the indignities of the day. They'd taken his clothes away, clothes that reeked of unburnt aviation fuel, as well as residue from the burnt fuel. Neither one had any place in a hospital room, and they were keeping the hero of the helicopter 'incident' for observation. The frat-boy doctor had left, Chuck had left, everybody left him to rest with all the beeping machines.

He liked machines, but he couldn't stay here. He had amends to make, and he couldn't make them from a hospital room. He'd sort of hoped Ellie might stop by, might show some sign of forgiveness, but she hadn't, and he couldn't blame her.`

He'd abandoned her, deserted his post in the most cowardly fashion, letting Verbanski make those calls for him. Well, at least he hadn't quit by text message, that would have been the only thing lower than what he did.

He had to go back to her, make his apologies and take whatever she felt like dishing out. Take the hit, smile, and move on. Or out.

He deserved worse.

* * *

Chuck opened the door with an extra rattle to the knob. "Hey, Sarah, I'm–hiyooo!"

Sarah grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room and halfway to the far side. "Into the bedroom, Chuck, and take your clothes off. Now."

Chuck backed away from her, not accidentally in the direction she wanted him to go. "So, heh, how was your visit? With my sister?"

"We had a great time, Chuck," said Sarah levelly, pacing slowly toward him. "Hannah came over. We read books. We drank _tea_."

"The…soothing brain bath kind?" asked Chuck weakly. She didn't look very soothed.

_Tok!_ went her heels on the wood of the floor as she advanced. "Very soothing," said Sarah with a small smile. _Tok!_ "Very relaxing. So relaxing, in fact, that I completely failed to notice how effectively my sister and my best friend teamed up to blindside me."

"Um…" Chuck felt behind him for the door to his room. "Hannah was there?"

"Yes, she called, such a coincidence," said Sarah. "And Ellie invited her over, of course. We talked about babies. We had fun. Well, Ellie and I had fun, Hannah looked a bit shell-shocked if you ask me."

Chuck fumbled with his tie. His collar. Gosh it was hot in there. "She just got back from her honeymoon…"

Sarah closed the door behind her. "What's your point, Chuck?"

"No–no point," said Chuck, popping a button trying to get his shirt off. He pulled the whole thing over his head and started with his pants. "So…you had a good time?"

She nodded. "Very good. I like talking about babies, it makes me feel–" her hands clenched "–good. Very good. And then I got into my car and listened to the news on the way home. And I heard all about an explosion on top of a hotel, and realized that no, I never did get the all-clear from my loving husband."

_Oh God. Mama Bear's feeling _good_._ "I was at the hospital," he said, tripping over his pants and falling on the bed. "With Manoosh. And Devon."

She pounced, pulling his pants over shoes. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"*urk*No," said Chuck, trying frantically to pry his shoes off with his feet through two layers of cloth as she slowly made her way up the whole long length of him. "Carina threatened me. I'm fine, really. You should thank her. Go ahead and call, I'll wait."

Her breath puffed against the hair on his legs. "I'm checking for myself." Her hands slid up, ahead of her breath. "You don't mind."

_Ah! _"…no…"

"Good." She straddled his waist, pinning him to the bed as she undid the buttons of her blouse. "And then you can show me."

* * *

The next day (for some people)…

"I had no idea assassins were so rare, or so expensive," said Vivian Volkoff, after Decker brought in the few quotes he'd received.

"They're not, usually," he said, settling into a chair. No power struggles today. This mess was all on Vivian and he was happy to leave it there. "Normally a nobody like Alex McHugh would rate the lowest fee going. Less if the hitter is a rookie trying to get a start."

"Agent McHugh is hardly a nobody," said Vivian.

Circumstances were swiftly transforming the FBI agent from a formerly-minor public figure into a major problem. Zorn may be gone but his website remained, for now, and the video had racked up an impressive amount of hits. The video itself had turned out to be downloadable, too. Vivian couldn't turn on a TV or check a feed without seeing that girl's face. Excerpts and still shots only. None of the media had managed to find her, as yet.

"Her ability to defend herself is only the least of their problems," said Decker. Paid killers were always 'they', never something that could be traced back to the employer. "Even assuming they succeed, murdering an FBI agent in cold blood will bring all kinds of blowback. Can you offer relocation?"

"Certainly, but I don't think it would help," said Vivian. She pointed at the blown-up and printed-out screenshot she had taped to the wall. "If that's not Agent Charles on the right I'll eat Mr. Delgado's shoes." She would know his height, his stance, his effortless grace anywhere.

Decker frowned at the wall. If Charles was there, so was the rest of his team. However they'd joined forces with Little Miss Agent in the middle, Decker was certain they would take an attack on her personally, and internationally. "Not to mention every other National Security service in the world." He crossed a couple of those killers off his list. They'd do the job, but they wouldn't get away with it, and Agent Charles had the annoying habit of taking his enemies alive. "We have to either keep this in-house, or use the best of the best."

"I imagine Thomas would thank you for the opportunity," said Vivian.

Decker snorted in amusement. "I'm sure he would–" to the extent that he ever thanked anybody, which was never "–but I have no intention of squandering him on something like this. I have other resources to call in first."

Vivian turned her attention on him. "Resources that can take on Agent Charles and hope to win?" _And you're only telling me about them now?_

"No," said Decker. "But they can keep Agent Charles from taking them alive, which is just as good."

* * *

She came home after the end of the breakfast rush, but Morgan still waited for her. "Alex!" he called. "Ahem, I mean, Miss McHugh. Your usual?"

"No, Morgan," said Alex, dragging her bag behind her as she headed for the stairs. "I just want to go to bed."

Morgan looked around the room, but no one looked like the wanted seconds, or even firsts. "You know," he said undoing his apron, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. I think I'll join you."

"A-_hem_," grunted his boss, who he had somehow failed to notice the first time.

"I meant the 'going to bed' part," whined Morgan, but without the eye-roll he normally would have added. The last thing he needed was another lecture on proper employee decorum _now_.

Glancing at the clock, Mrs. Pendergast made a flicking motion with her fingers. Morgan turned and ran for the stairs and for Alex, who was currently clutching the rail as she wearily mounted each step, her dangling purse going bump-bump-bump.

"Here, let me carry that," said Morgan, pulling the strap from her fingers. It fell to the ground, and he pulled it back up, looping it over his shoulders. "Wow, what is it with you ladies using your purses to carry your bowling balls around?"

Alex smiled at his blinding wit.

"Okay, come on, you." Morgan draped her arm over his shoulders and put his own arm around her, helping her mount the stairs. At the top he looked back down, but his semi-employer wasn't there, so he turned Alex toward his room, because he really had meant the 'join you' part as well as the 'going to bed' part, he just hadn't said so.

* * *

Sarah floated, Chuck staggered into the secret underground base just in time.

"Looks like somebody had a good night," said Carina as Chuck downed a large glass of water.

"I'm having oyster stew for lunch and no one's gonna stop me," he mumbled.

Sarah came over and gave Carina a big hug.

"What's this for?"

Sarah smiled at her. "Chuck said you threatened him, kept him out of that fire on the roof, and that I should thank you, so, Thanks."

Carina looked sympathetically at Chuck but was overridden by the sound of the chime from the communicator. They all headed for chairs. To stand behind, because she was a General.

"Good morning, team," said Beckman. "I'll keep this brief. I–" She squinted past them. "Is that a video game?"

Sarah smiled at her too. "Not just any video game, General, that's the machine Chuck stopped World War 3 with."

"That's all well and good, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman, "But what is a videogame doing in a secret military installation?"

"It's a trophy," said Casey.

"A trophy?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am. In our study of Gertrude Verbanski's operation, we found that her office was full of her trophies. We're just trying to blend in."

"Good luck with that," said Beckman. "Thanks to last night's fiasco, I have a meeting today with the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs."

"I don't understand, General," said Chuck. "Why would they care about a helicopter explosion?"

"The subject of today's meeting will not be Mats Zorn but the last file he uploaded before his capture. Haven't any of you been following the news?"

"Uh, hospital," said Chuck, raising a hand. And afterward, but he wasn't going to mention that part.

"Baby party," said Sarah, putting her hand up, too. And afterward. Chuck took her hand in his own and kissed her fingers.

"FBI," said Carina, raising her hand too. And afterward.

Casey raised his hand. "Um…"

"Verbanski Corp. liaison?" suggested Chuck.

"Thanks, numb-nuts," said Casey through gritted teeth. "I would have gotten there eventually."

"I have no time to waste, Colonel," said Beckman. "Zorn released your video of the Norseman and its destruction to the general public."

Casey went still. "And?"

"And I will try to keep the discussion from reaching as far down as the agents in the field," said Beckman, sounding confident, "But I'm sure it will eventually." She leaned in close, addressing her remarks to Casey specifically. "You should know, Colonel, that this is a matter on which all the various intelligence services are in a unique state of agreement, even the CIA, which would actually have the most use for a device of this type. So if Alex' career is influenced negatively, it will be in some very good company."

"How negatively?" asked Chuck.

Beckman sighed. "The Secretary of Defense wants to have anyone involved in this action arrested. A low profile would suit us all, for the time being."

Carina bristled. "They don't have that authority."

"No, but the DHS does," said Sarah.

"DoD would have to ask, first," said Casey. "That'll never happen."

"So we can all hope," said the General. "I'll keep you apprised." The screen went black.

"So now what do we do?" asked Casey.

"Could always play some Missile Command," said the best Missile Command player in the world.

Casey looked at the screen. "Does it even work?"

Chuck sagged. "No, we couldn't find an outlet."

Sarah patted his arm. "Cheer up, sweetie. Don't forget, we also have that Nerd Herd costume of mine to go with it." She shifted her grip.

"Uh-oh," said Carina, but it was too late. Chuck yelped as Sarah dragged him with her out the door. "Bye, Chuck," she called after them.

"Wow, look at that," said Casey, ostentatiously checking his watch. "Lunch time already."

* * *

Vivian looked up from her work, at the knocking on her door. Not Mr. Carmichael's decorous tap by any means, and for a moment she was tempted to dismiss the tapper until he should learn some manners. Upon reflection, she realized that this plan might leave her wandering the house alone for a very long time, and she deigned to acknowledge him. "You may enter."

Decker pushed through the door like the bull he no doubt perceived himself to be. "You'll be happy to know that I've made all the arrangements," he said, his tone dripping with confidence.

Vivian sat back. "For what?" She would decide what made her happy, not this lout.

Decker wasn't about to put his arrangements into words, in a room he hadn't swept for bugs first. When he didn't want secrets heard, he didn't speak them. "I found a third party willing to undertake our little demolition project. The rate was a little high, but we have a guarantee of no mess afterward."

"Excellent," said Vivian. "Your work dovetails very nicely with my own."

Decker coasted to a stop, wind taken from his sails. "What do you mean?"

"As you said earlier, we had the choice of handling this matter in-house, or finding an expert in… demolitions," said Vivian. "I happen to have a great deal of talent in _my_ house, despite Riley's best efforts."

_Russians. _"They don't sound like local talent," said Decker._ Lots and lots of Russians._

Vivian smirked. "I have a big house."

"And I have a telephone," said Decker, smirking right back. "And lots and lots of contacts."

_My father had Hydra._ With any luck, soon she would have Hydra again. "And you really think your contacts and connections will do better for you than my power of command will do for me?"

"What are you suggesting?"

Vivian stood, accommodating Decker's need for conflict, just this once. "I'm proposing a small wager, Mr. Decker, something to fill the time. If I'm not mistaken, you are expecting your team to be paid with my money."

"Of course."

"Well, if your team wins, demolishes our target site and leaves me a clean new site for rebuilding, as you promised, then I will pay them, as you promised."

"And if your team wins, whatever that means?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Then _you_ will pay."

Decker smiled. He never paid for anything. "Done."

_You will be._ Vivian sat in front of her computer once again. "What information did you give your team? I shall give mine the same."

"Just the…address," said Decker, smugly. "Should be enough."

She started typing.

He found her silence suddenly annoying, as if he'd missed something. He didn't like missing things. "You don't think you have a chance of winning, do you? I have the professional's professional in my corner."

"It's early days yet, Mr. Decker," said Vivian, with a final, dramatic tap. She looked up at him. "And you never can tell. Accidents will happen."

* * *

Morgan woke to the furious tapping at his door. "Coming," he said, before he remembered that he was speaking right into Alex' ear. She didn't hear him, apparently, and neither did the person playing drums on his door.

Morgan quickly but cautiously unwrapped himself from around his exhausted girlfriend, dragging on his pants. "I'm coming," he called again, once he was in the clear. He opened the door, just a little bit. "Mrs. P?"

Mrs. Pendergast looked very upset, nervously glancing up and down the hall. "Is Miss McHugh–?" she said loudly, so loudly she apparently took herself by surprise. She tried again, in a whisper. "Is Miss McHugh with you?"

_Uh-oh, busted._ Not that it was really any of her business, but she seemed to think that his status as a breakfast chef gave her some authority over his private life and conduct. For a second he considered lying to her but that wasn't part of his heavily-internalized _What Would Chuck Do_? code of behavior, so he didn't. Take the hit, smile, and move on. "Yes," he said, looking back at the sleeping beauty. "Yes she is."

Mrs. Pendergast sagged, taking him completely by surprise. "Oh, thank God."

"Mrs. P?" said Morgan, "Are you all right?" He'd gotten used to her as a harridan, this moment of weakness was scaring him. "What's the matter?" He opened the door wider and stuck his head out, to see whatever it was she was looking at.

She pushed him back in his room and stepped inside after him, sparing only the briefest of glances at Alex. She fixed him with her frighteningly intense stare. "You may be a client, Mr. Grimes, but you are also an employee, let's not forget that. I'll tell you what's happened and after that you will keep your mouth shut, is that clear?"

"As long as it doesn't hurt anybody," said Morgan. Sure he owed her some loyalty but that only went so far.

Mrs. P nodded acceptance. "I got a visit from some men from the gas company this afternoon, they said their equipment had detected a leak and they were checking buildings in the area."

Morgan went white. "Don't tell me…"

She told him anyway. "Miss McHugh's room was above the leak. If she hadn't been here, doing… God knows what with you, she'd probably be dead now."

* * *

**A/N2 **Canon had a lot of Morgan's antics, none of which were really useful here, so I had to make a lot of stuff up.. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you thought.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N **This is a very difficult episode to rewrite. All Morgan, Buy More, and a brain-melting Intersect, none of which I have in my version. Not to mention that it's one of the few episodes in S5 that was actually enjoyable on its own. So I'm going for the spirit rather than the letter.

* * *

"_Agent McHugh is hardly a nobody." _

"_A low profile would suit us all."_

"_Accidents will happen."_

"_Miss McHugh's room was above the leak."_

* * *

Ellie looked up when she heard the noise, heart pounding. Footsteps sounded as someone walked past her door. A large man. A woman. And…

And someone didn't walk past her door at all. Someone stood right outside, waiting, perhaps working up the courage, perhaps turning to flee. Ellie stood up, ready to run to the door when it pushed open. Manoosh stood there, as if unsure of the welcome he would receive.

For a genius he could be pretty stupid sometimes. "Oh, Manoosh, thank God you're here."

"Thank…God?"

"Absolutely," said Ellie. "I'm expecting a lot of new scanning equipment today, and I need to get the scanner set up again, but I've only got a few minutes to get ready before Clara wakes up and wants her bottle." Suddenly an alert sounded from the board. Manoosh recognized it as one of the lesser biometric warnings. Ellie smiled. "Clockwork."

Manoosh looked around the room. Workstations had been rearranged, making space for all sorts of nursery equipment, but no baby. "You've got your daughter profiled?" Had to have a profile in order to sound a warning, and he knew where all the telemetric devices were.

"Be a shame to let all that expensive equipment across the hall go to waste, wouldn't it?" said Ellie, walking over to a small refrigerator. "Devon tried to make me think he wasn't cut out to be a stay-at-home dad. He was so awesome at it while I was worried about you, but he knew I needed to be with my baby girl. He's so sweet."

Manoosh still had words like 'baby' and 'lab' stuck in his head. "Aren't you worried about an upload? It's what happened to Chuck."

"I blocked the door open, and I pulled the board that activates the emitters," said Ellie. "It's in my desk drawer. I just use the system to show her pictures when I'm not there. It's interesting to chart her reactions." Unofficially.

"It's interesting to chart _your_ reactions," said Manoosh. "Aren't you even going to yell at me?"

Ellie paused, bottle in hand. "Do you want me to?" She shut the door.

Manoosh remembered his mother. His real mother. "Well…no."

"That's good," said Ellie with some relief, putting the bottle on to warm up. "I had to stop yelling at my brother a long time ago, and I forgot how." She noted the time.

"You could do that sad face," said Manoosh. "You have a killer pout–"

"Manoosh…"

"Exactly!"

Ellie put on her exasperated face instead. "I'm not your mother, Manoosh. I'm here to help you, heal you, not to yell at you."

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski sat at her desk, hard at work. She so much preferred it in the field, where the only things you had to worry about were bullets and the people who fired them. But she was a legend now, and legends don't show themselves at every little squabble, not that 'squabble' was really the right word for the conflicts she took part in. A matter of scale, really. When it's a multi-billion-dollar a year a company, even squabbles can be pretty big. And when she did take a part in one of those, just to keep her hand in and her skills sharp, she kept it confidential.

Someone tapped on her door, and she checked the screen. Just her aide. "Come."

He came in and stood at attention before her desk. "Miss Verbanski, we've received simultaneous hits on Dummies Three and Four."

"Three _and_ Four?" asked Gertrude with a frown. "Different jobs?" Probably not, he wouldn't have bothered her for something so mundane. Business was, as they say, booming.

"No, ma'am. They appear to be identical, allowing for the recipient."

Dummy Three was a competent profile, a steady dependable tool for high-profile jobs. Dummy Four was a myth beyond even Gertrude's abilities to bring to life. Whoever the source of this contract was, they wanted someone very good, or expendable.

"Send me the details." While Gertrude certainly wasn't above assassination, she was pretty choosy about targets. She liked to think of it as a form of public service, giving back to the community by removing some of the troublemakers. If she approved of the target, which she usually didn't, one of her dummies would get to polish their reputation. If not, the best way to prevent or delay the hit was to be the hitter. She'd still take the job, but retire the Dummy while letting the target escape to higher ground. Dummies didn't have that long a shelf-life.

"They're already in your box," said her assistant, when his phone chimed. He checked the screen. "That's odd, the offer's been withdrawn already." He looked at her with some surprise. "That was quick."

Gertrude appeared to ignore him as she scanned the two files. Such speed _was_ surprising, and suspicious. Neither of her Dummies would have taken the job so fast, unless they had to make amends for some screw-up, but if the employer had that leverage why broadcast the offer?

She considered the timing. A high-profile response to a high-profile event, and how many of those had there been in the last few days? _Gee, let me think…_

"Go to Yellow-3," she said. The highest level alert she could justify without more direct evidence of a threat. She could write it off as a training exercise if she had to. "And get Carmichael Industries on the phone. See if Sarah Charles will take a meeting."

* * *

Back in the lab…

Uh-oh. Time to be serious. Manoosh plopped down on Chuck's exam stool. "Is it true what Chuck said, that this thing in my head will kill me?"

Ellie slid into a chair. "My father thinks so. Nothing else explains the accelerating skew in the readings." She pulled up some of the scans so he could see for himself.

The scans didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, and he'd never looked at his own. But he could see how the colors changed over time, becoming steadily more unbalanced. "You can take it out, right? We were working on that before I…" He trailed off as Ellie shook her head.

"We don't know, Manoosh," she said. "We've only ever had Chuck to study, and he's unique. We couldn't get the skills out with him either, remember, even before Mom hit him with that damned panel, and we pretty much stopped trying, after."

Because who else would be stupid enough to upload anything? Got it, thanks. "So what do we do?"

Ellie put on her best bedside manner. "The physician's first rule, do no harm. We study you over time, see how your body adjusts. Nerve damage does heal, very slowly. It's possible the skills will just fade away, the trick is to keep you from using them until they do."

Manoosh remembered how easily the skills came to him, there at the end. Not using them sounded like a lot of work. "How do I do that?"

She gusted out all the conditions in a rush. "You stay in the lab. There's nothing here that would require you to flash. We'll scan you periodically to see how the skills decay, assuming they do."

Manoosh looked around. Stay in the lab. Once upon a time he was fine with that but now the thought made his teeth itch. "And if they don't?"

"Orion's working on that," said Ellie. "He thinks it's a technical problem so he's trying to make a technical solution. All that new gear I'm expecting, it's from Orion Industries." Ellie checked her watch, standing up. "Speaking of which, I have to get Clara, so we can clear out the lab for when the new stuff arrives." On cue, the sound of a baby crying came over the speakers. Ellie smiled at Manoosh. "Clockwork."

* * *

Chuck was in the kitchen, breaking eggs. Lots of eggs. He couldn't cook them, that would take too long. Sarah was on the phone but that could end at any time and he had to be ready, so instead he was making an Awesome-style high protein smoothie. He turned on the blender when Sarah came out of the bedroom, dressed for a business meeting. He turned off the blender and lifted the whole container…pitcher…blending thingie to his lips and drank it straight down.

"Sweetie," Sarah said, "That was Gertrude Verbanski's office on the phone. I'm going to have to–"

Chuck lifted a hand, index finger raised, as he kept drinking. When the pitcher was empty he slammed it on the counter, taking deep breaths. "Okay. You were saying…?"

"I was saying," snapped Sarah, glaring, "That the only reason I didn't snap that finger off is because I have a much better use for it where it is." She waved a hand, and with that gesture her whole attitude changed. "Gertrude wants to meet me, she says she has some important new information to discuss with CI."

New information? About what? "You need back-up?" He wouldn't mind an opportunity to be dressed for a while.

"No need," said Sarah, stroking his collarbones. "It's not that kind of meeting."

A business meeting? A _normal_ meeting? Did he believe that? No, he did not. "It's _always _that kind of meeting."

Sarah conceded the point. "Okay, that's true, but Gertrude let me choose the place. She may have a few men with her but I'll have the waiters on my side." If they weren't a normal couple, at least they were a _happy_ couple.

Chuck nodded. "Tell Morgan and Sam I said Hi."

She made no move to leave, or even step back. "You'll be alright here, on your own?"

Chuck had slightly larger concerns. He was letting a hormonal ninja loose on an unsuspecting populace. Hopefully they'd forgive him. "I think so."

"You'll stay right here?" she pressed. Most wives would be worried about normal things, that he would be lonely, or would burn dinner. The last time she'd let him out of her sight, he almost got blown up. She wouldn't mind a bit more normal, sometimes, especially now.

"I'll stay right here," he agreed. "I have that report to finish for Alex' boss, no bigger plans than that. Anything comes up I'll let you know."

* * *

One wife riding off into the sunset later…

The phone rang.

"Chuck, you gotta help me," said Manoosh when Chuck answered it.

"What's the matter, Manoosh?" asked Chuck. The poor guy sounded desperate. "Shouldn't you be trying to get Ellie–?"

"Ellie left, bro," said Manoosh. "Took Clara with her and left me here all alone."

"You didn't have a problem with that before…"

"I don't now, either, but she said I can't use any of my accounts."

"Accounts?"

"No Netflix, no Hulu, maybe some youtube but no streaming services of any kind. It's killing me, Chuck. I've got the world's biggest personal movie screen right across the hall and nothing to watch!"

Chuck looked at his wall of DVDs. "Gotcha covered there, Manoosh. You up for a Trilogy Night?"

* * *

"Good evening, Mrs. Charles."

Sarah smiled at him, as always. "Good evening, Sam. I'll need a table for two, I'll have a guest coming."

Sam gathered up the menus she wouldn't use. "A woman? Tall, dark, and severe?"

Sarah nodded.

"Table six. She's got three couples keeping eyes on her, too. But don't worry, we take good care of our regular guests."

"We take good care of _all_ our patrons, Sam," said the manager, passing through. "Remember that."

"Sorry, sir," said Sam. "Slip of the tongue."

"I thought Morgan was on tonight," said Sarah, once the man was out of earshot.

"So did we," said Sam. "Something happened at home. He called and said he'd be in late. That's why Mr. J has a pickle up his butt. He's supposed to be gone by now." He indicated a direction. "Right this way, ma'am. Your party is waiting.'

* * *

Morgan put down the last box of Alex' stuff. Mrs. P let her move in with Morgan–purely temporarily, or course–until Miss McHugh's room should clear out of the gas fumes. Considering the fumes, the size of the window, and the lack of electric fans, for obvious reasons, that could be a while. Morgan was in no rush.

Okay, yes, he was in a rush, but not for that. "You'll be okay here, alone?" he asked, tying his tie.

"I'll have plenty to do tonight, Morgan," she said, trying to make some room in his sock drawer. She dumped the socks and came over to him, adjusting his tie for him that last little bit. "You go, do your job. Let me guard the home front."

Morgan left with a grin on his face. _Home Front._ He liked the sound of that.

* * *

Gertrude's eyes crossed. "Wow, these crab cakes are _good_!"

"I know, right," said Sarah. Verbanski was surprisingly good company. She could be a friend. Not a normal friend, but a friend. "He won't tell me what's in them, though."

"You want me to get the recipe?" asked Gertrude with a smile. "I warn you, I don't come cheap."

Sarah sat back, looking surprised. "You just gave me the strangest idea for a new TV show."

Gertrude decided to go with it. Between the food, wine, and company, she was having a good night. "If you want I'll run it past my marketing team, see if it has legs."

"You'd do that for me?" asked Sarah.

"For the only woman to ever best me in my own office, you bet," said Gertrude, toasting Sarah's prowess. "How did you manage that, anyway?"

Sarah smiled and took a sip of her ginger ale. "Trade secret. But thanks."

Gertrude smiled, and let the matter drop. For now.

* * *

A good bit later…

"Evening, Sam," said Morgan, hanging up his coat. "What have you got for me tonight?"

"A full house, sir, as usual," said the maitre d'. "Couple of Generals in the booth, and some old friends at table six."

Morgan tapped the clipboard on the podium. "You're the best, Sam. Time for me to go talk the talk."

Sam nodded. "Into each life, sir."

* * *

"Oh, Chuck, pizza! You're a life-saver," said Manoosh. "I got everything set up, stole some sodas from the machine, lasered up some popcorn, the works."

"Is that a teddy bear in your hand, Manoosh?"

Manoosh stuck his hand behind his back. "So what if it is? I mean, Ellie left it behind." He tossed whatever he was holding into the room across the hall and reached for the duffel bag, practically drooling. "What have you got for me? Raiders? Star Wars?"

Chuck swung the bag off his shoulder. "I…think those two have caused enough trouble, don't you?"

Less drooling, more suspicion. "You said Trilogy Night." _How many trilogies _were_ there, for God's sake? _"So what'd you bring?"

* * *

Sarah choked on her decaf, and not just because it was decaf, either. "A professional assassin? Who's the target?"

"Unknown," said Gertrude. "Somebody snagged the contract before I could even read the fine print. This close to the Zorn thing I can take a few guesses. The man did have his partisans, after all."

"I'm sure there are some who'd like to keep him quiet, too. Either way, that's not good news," said the CIA's greatest assassin.

"Don't I know it," said the former KGB assassin, reaching into her briefcase. "This is all I've got." She handed over two pieces of paper with the offers.

Sarah read the documents, but they gave her no insights, couched in the usual bland code phrases until an arrangement had been made. "Seems like a low-risk job, so why the big payout?" she said, and Gertrude made a small murmur of agreement. Lots of possible reasons for that, none of them good, but someone had grabbed at this anyway. Sarah tucked the papers in her bag, to bring them to Chuck. "Do you have any idea who took the contract?"

"Somebody platinum-grade, obviously," said Gertrude. Or very stupid, but that wasn't the way to bet. "Lack of obvious movement suggests one in particular."

The hitter must have gone dark practically the second they cashed the check. "The Viper?"

A dark shadow fell over the table.

* * *

"_Get Smart_, _Spies Like Us_, and _Despicable Me_ are not a trilogy," said Manoosh. "And I've never even heard of that other one."

Chuck held up a disk with a name scrawled on the top. "It's French."

"I don't listen in French."

"That's okay, this is in English. The only English-dubbed version that I know about, and it's all mine, mwa-ha-ha. Don't worry, you'll love it."

"Well, okay," grumbled Manoosh, taking the disk. "But if I have to flash so I can kick your ass, I'm telling Ellie it's your fault."

* * *

Sarah grabbed a knife without thinking, as she looked up. "Oh! Morgan. You startled me."

"I startled _you_?" he asked. "Really?"

Sarah nodded sheepishly.

"Wow," said Morgan, starting to smile. "This is just–" He straightened his tie. "You don't mind if I take a moment…?"

"Morgan!"

He dropped his hands quickly leaving his tie…not straight. "Yeah?"

Sarah changed her tone. Normal. Business-like. Friendly. "What took you so long? We were about to leave."

For a second Morgan hesitated, wondering if Sarah was one of the people Mrs. P had in mind when she said not to tell anyone. It's not like she lived there, although he supposed she _might_, someday. No, that was silly. Sarah would never leave Chuck, and the rooms Mrs. P rented were really too small for two. He crossed his fingers, mentally. "Bit of a crisis back at the B&amp;B, I had to help Alex move her–Sarah? What's the matter?"

"Another TV show, Sarah?" asked Gertrude.

"Alex," said Sarah.

"Yes, what about her?" asked Morgan.

"She works for the FBI."

Morgan nodded. "I know that."

"Chuck's busy writing a report right now, for her boss."

"So?" said Gertrude.

"He was analyzing the data we got from Karl Sneijder."

"Goddammit, no wonder you let me have him so easily," said Gertrude, sounding disgusted, but not with Sarah. "I'm hustling him out the door and there you are hoovering his servers behind my back."

"Hoovering data on a network of contacts, most of whom would do anything to keep those connections buried."

Gertrude looked like she just had an idea for a strange TV show. "Like hire the Viper." She pulled out her phone. "I have to call back to base, up the alert status."

Sarah got her phone out too. "I have to call Chuck," she said, tapping the screen. "Make sure he's safe and–oh, no."

"What's the matter?" said Morgan, trying to look at her screen. "Chuck's not safe and?"

"He left the house!" said Sarah, turning a few heads, but she didn't notice or care. "He said he'd keep in touch and he sent me a damn text message!"

"Where is he?" asked Gertrude.

"He's with Manoosh," said Sarah. "He's with Manoosh _right now! _Morgan!"

Morgan snapped his fingers. "On it!" He turned to the door. "Sam! Take out boxes, right now!"

"Let me get that for you, Mrs. Charles," said a voice behind him, and Morgan jumped. The busboy was already scraping the leftovers into her box as Sarah stood up and reached for her coat.

Gertrude stood and so did three other couples. She pulled out her Platinum card. "I've got this," she said, handing the card to Morgan and nodded to sarah. "You go."

Sarah nodded back. "Thanks."

"He'll be all right," said Morgan.

"He'd better be," said Sarah. "If he's not, I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

**A/N2 **Thanks to resaw for the hormonal ninja line. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it first.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N **This episode is turning out a little mix-mastered.

* * *

"_Clockwork__." _

"_It's _always_ that kind of meeting."_

"_That's not good news."_

"_I'm gonna kill him."_

* * *

All shadows are unique, chameleon by nature, mixtures of darkness and light controlled by their surroundings. They are treacherous things, shifting with every footstep, every raindrop, and the creatures who live there have to be strong. Shadows don't thrive under harsh conditions, bright lights or plunging gloom, so the inhabitants have learned to move quickly, adapt swiftly, or die.

Some, tired of the shifting allegiances of the shadow world, adapt too well, to either darkness or light.

A figure clad in muddled tones of charcoal stood at the thinnest shadow of all, the border between darkness and light, a deep alley at its back and a streetlight awaiting its next step. Across the street, an office building, used by dozens of ordinary people leading dozens of ordinary lives. The figure adapted to the light, becoming a woman, brunette, the rest of her features hidden in the shadow of her own hair as she crossed the street under that light.

On the other side she adapted again, and vanished.

The outer shell of the office building itself was no hindrance to her, and once inside she adapted to the darkness. The office she sought was small, windowless, and unpopular. The current occupant had by far the longest tenure of any on record, a red flag to those who knew what they were looking for, as this woman did.

The door to that office was more of a problem than the building had been, but the woman had time to be careful and thorough, and so she was both. No alarms sounded when she finally opened the door, shining a low-intensity light around the room. A desk, a chair, and a closet. She went to the closet, stepped inside, and closed the door.

* * *

Sarah called from the car.

Casey was his usual civil self. "Talk to me, Bartowski."

"Casey! I can't find Chuck!"

Casey moved out into the living room, where all his surveillance equipment was located, because …Casey. "How'd you manage to lose your own husband? On second thought–"

Sarah didn't wait for him to not finish that second thought. "I was at a meet."

Without backup? "You went on a mission and left Chuck by himself?"

"It wasn't that kind of meet…"

"It's _always_ that kind of meet."

"It was a business meeting with _your_ girlfriend," snapped Sarah. "At Morgan's restaurant."

Should've been safe enough, Casey admitted, grudgingly, in the privacy of his own mind. "Gertrude's not my girlfriend." He checked the area around the restaurant, and found her signal.

If Casey had been in her car Sarah would have hit him. "Of all the things we've got to worry about, _that's _what you pick up on?"

"I don't know, Bartowski, maybe if you briefed me properly I'd find something else to worry about," said Casey. Where was she going in such a hurry? "Not that I _am_ worried about girlfriend, I mean, Gertrude…"

"Zip it, Casey. Verbanski got hold of some contracts, very odd but very high-level, and since we'd just taken down Zorn–"

"She decided to give us a head's up." _That's my gir…trude._ "You think Chuck is the target?"

"I think it's awfully quick work if this is a response to Zorn's capture," said Sarah. "When I left, Chuck said he would stay home, where it was safe, working on that Sneijder report."

Sneijder, huh? Casey could see that timing. "Then why aren't you heading home?"

"Chuck sent me a text message," Sarah snarled. "He's having a Trilogy Night with Manoosh."

Casey knew where Manoosh had to be, and expanded his field. "I don't see anything there. What do you want to bet they're in the Intersect Room?"

"Or they _were_."

"Checking," said Casey. She was forgetting about the screamer, but since that would only go off if Chuck was dead, he wasn't about to remind her. He activated a second set of sensors. "Whoops."

"What do mean, 'whoops'?" yelled Sarah, her voice rising ever higher. "You're my eyes and ears, Casey, you don't get to say 'whoops'!"

"Sensors in the elevator just went off," said Casey, "And Ellie's still at home."

The dot of light on his screen that represented Sarah moved faster.

* * *

She moved out of the elevator the second it stopped, letting her eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. The lights were out where she was, but the hall had a light shining on it somewhere, and the walls were pretty reflective. She heard voices, too, and music. She crept down the hall toward the sounds of life, her footsteps quiet enough for a church.

One door was closed, the window dark. The other door was blocked open, with shifting light flickering out of it. She moved to the fall wall, walking past the door, one with the shadows. Two men sat in the room, backs to the door. The wall in front of them was made up of screens, each showing a small portion of a larger image, in this case a man in a tuxedo, holding a hand to his nose while standing in a bizarre pose.

"Oh my God," said one of the men, laughing. "Hit with a bagpipe! Genius!"

"I told you, right?" said the second man, and they toasted with cans of soda.

"Who thinks up this stuff?"

Smiling to herself, the woman in grey raised her gloved hand.

* * *

Alex McHugh climbed the stairs from the basement for the umpteenth time, carrying a basket of laundry. While not her favorite domestic chore–she much preferred taking out the trash, both hers and the country's–it ranked above doing dishes, and climbing the stairs was good exercise. Morgan's collection of clothing wasn't so extensive that he didn't have room left in his dresser and closet for her stuff, if his was just folded properly. Or folded at all.

It was a lot of work to do for just a day or two, but hopefully…he hadn't said anything, though… and anyway it needed to be done for her cover. They'd told her last night to go off grid for a while, and avoid new people, especially the press. She'd pointed out that where she lived, new people were the rule, not the exception. They just said 'do your best', and that's what she was doing, but the best lies have a lot of truth in them and she didn't think Morgan would mind.

She heard voices down the hall, and automatically turned to look. It was kind of late for Mrs. P to be taking in new guests, but she'd never let something like that stop her. Sure enough, Mrs. P was escorting two new people down the hall, an older couple, and she had that look on her face. _Uh-oh, showtime._

"And as you can see we have our own laundry facilities downstairs," said Mrs. P, taking advantage of Alex' presence. Anything to save her a trip. "I'd like to introduce you to one of our long-term guests, Miss–"

"Missus," said Alex suddenly.

Mrs. P's mouth kept moving but the sound cut off. "Eh…"

"I know you don't like that it wasn't a church wedding but it _was_ a wedding, Mrs. P," said Alex. She spoke to the new arrivals. "We could have gotten married in a church but we didn't want to wait, and besides, between Morgan's family–" just his mother, Bolonia Grimes, and through her, Big Mike, and through him all the rest of the Buy Morons "–and my family–" just her mother, Kathleen, and _her_ new husband, and Alex' own father, Alex Coburn, surprisingly not dead "–it would have been quite the circus. Really, we just want to _lay low_ for a while, avoid all the hoopla."

Mrs. P was no spy, but she did watch the news. This wispy figure, clad in a shirt too large for her, her hair pulled back, her face _au naturel_, looked very little like the confident woman in that video. She hadn't thought of using Alex' celebrity as a marketing gimmick, well, not much, but clearly that particular scheme would not be appreciated. She smiled and nodded, not a spy but a hotelier, very similar in some respects. "Our guest's privacy is very highly respected," she said to her new guests. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs. Grimes."

"Call me Sandra," said Alex, more or less to all of them but she wasn't looking at Mrs. P.

"Bob," said the man, extending a hand. "My friends call me Crazy Bob. We're just in town for the Anthropomorphics Convention, so–" he winked at Alex "–we'll keep your secret if you'll keep ours."

"Oh, the _furries_," said Alex excitedly. "You have to meet my husband, he'd be so jealous. He's a super-Nerd, loves all that kind of stuff."

"He's also a superb breakfast chef," added Mrs. P. "Another of our little amenities."

"Sounds wonderful," said the woman. She extended a hand as well. "Call me Jane."

* * *

The lights snapped on, up and down the hall, killing the shadows and leaving the woman exposed.

"Freeze!" shouted Sarah, ready to kill if her target so much as breathed. From inside the Intersect Room they heard the sound of a tray of food falling to the ground. Then the room went silent, and they heard the sound of a tray of food falling to the ground. "Oh, man," whined Manoosh. "Now I have to laser up more popcorn…"

The brunette turned her head. "Hello, Sarah."

Sarah relaxed her stance. "Mary?"

"Mom?"

"Hey, Mrs. Bartowski," said Manoosh. "How'd you get in here?" he asked, ducking past to go to the other room.

Mary still looked at Sarah. "You're early."

Sarah put the gun away. "You expected me?"

"I expected somebody," said Mary. "The security isn't that lax around here." High praise, coming from her.

"I was in the neighborhood," said Sarah, going to Chuck and embracing him. "And the security isn't lax, Orion handed you all the cheat codes."

"And spoil the challenge?" asked Mary. "He wouldn't dare."

"Not to mention that the primary defense of this lab is secrecy, and you already know about it," said Chuck, his hand moving up and down Sarah's back. "And Dad brought you down here, so, not much of a challenge, I'd say."

"All the more reason for him not to spoil whatever's left, _I'd_ say," said Mary, watching Sarah's face as it softened from her Agent mask into something more human. "Why were you so concerned?"

Sarah dug into her purse and handed Mary the papers Gertrude had given her.

Mary scanned them quickly. "Interesting." She held them out. "What makes you think Chuck is the target?" Because obviously she did.

"Target?" said Chuck, and he took the papers to read himself. "What does this mean?"

Sarah pushed away. "It means, when I tell you to stay home where it's safe, you do it," she said, hitting him in the shoulder.

"Ow," said Chuck, rubbing his shoulder. "But Manoosh needed me. He was suffering."

Suffering, huh? "Obviously he needs a better basis for comparison," snarled Sarah. "Manoosh!"

A cabinet door banged shut in Ellie's office. "I'm not in here," he yelled.

"Aside from the fact that you'd be doing the assassin's work for him," drawled Mary, "What makes you think that either of these boys is the target?"

"I wasn't prepared to risk it."

"Meaning you don't know," said Mary. "Isn't it fortunate you have the world's foremost figure-outer of things right here?"

"Manoosh?" yelled Chuck, also the world's foremost taker of hints. "Load me up."

The cabinet door opened. "What do we say?"

"Now!" yelled Sarah and Mary together.

* * *

One reconfigured Intersect Room later…

"Manoosh, are we ready?" asked Mary.

As if he'd ever done this before. Which he had, but the way she seemed to just assume he had, was pretty nice. "Upload encrypted, loaded, and ready to upload. Ma'am."

"'Yes' will do," said Mary with a smile. Just like Chuck, who never used one word when he knew ten. "Begin."

"Upload commencing."

Mary and Sarah sat in the booth, watching the screens as they showed all sorts of information about what was going on inside Chuck.

"Why are you here, Mary?" asked Sarah.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," said Mary with a smile. "Stephen sent a lot of equipment here, to monitor Manoosh. What he didn't send was this." Mary held up a wristwatch.

Sarah took it but didn't ask the obvious question.

"He calls it a Governor," said Mary. "You know he has an early form of the Intersect himself, right?"

He'd said something about it to Chuck long ago, before they'd gotten married, but the issue hadn't come up since then. As far as she was aware, no one else knew, which might explain why they were having this conversation in a closet. "Mm-hmm."

"Well, all that work he did coding and testing his code must have affected him a little like Chuck was affected, when he was nine. Stephen eventually started to show the same symptoms as the other test subjects, but more slowly, and he was able to build one of these to protect himself from the effects."

So he already had one, and Chuck didn't need one, so…"This will protect Manoosh?"

"We don't know exactly what the effects will be. Stephen has the code for the skills but he didn't write it, so he's not willing to make any guarantees."

Just as well. Sarah had little enough faith in the guarantees Orion _did_ make.

Mary continued, "We need to put Manoosh under the new scanners, let them get some more precise readings. They'll finish setting this Governor and then we'll see."

On the screen, Chuck's hands came up. He started typing.

* * *

Alex came down the stairs and heard the new guest, Jane, sitting in the lobby and talking on the phone, long before she spotted her. The older woman was surprisingly hard to see. Alex didn't want to hear her, even without the new privacy policy and all, but where Jane was sitting, there was no way to avoid her.

"I know, sweetie," Jane said apologetically. "I wish I was there, but we've already checked in. By the time we got back you'd be better already. I know you do. I'll pick up something nice for you at the con. Not another bunny, no."

Alex moved to the other side of the room, but Jane saw her and ended the call quickly. "Hi, Sandra. I guess you heard all that?"

"It's okay," said Alex, somehow feeling like she did something wrong. "Problem at home?"

"My youngest," said Jane. "Came home with a cold, but of course we'd already left, and of course my phone was dead so I didn't get a call until after we were here." She looked at the phone in her hand. "Here I promised myself I wouldn't be one of those mothers who can't stop and let go, but it's harder than I thought. It's like I've forgotten how to be normal, you know?"

"I don't know," said Alex. "Wife and mother seem pretty normal to me."

"Don't get me wrong, they're big jobs," said Jane. "The biggest. But at the end of the day they're jobs, you know. You shouldn't let them define you."

That wasn't how Alex' mother did it. What a poor life that seemed. "Well, hopefully I'll get that chance, someday," said Alex as she backed away toward the door.

Jane checked her watch. "You're going out?"

"Morgan called. He said he had a surprise for me at the restaurant," said Alex with a helpless little flutter. "He's so sweet."

"They always are, in the beginning," said Jane. "Just don't lose sight of the real you, in there with all the wedded bliss."

"I'll do my best," said Alex, politely. "Thanks, Jane." Then her cab was there, and Alex was out the door.

She didn't notice, as she got in the cab, that Jane was standing at the window, watching her go.

* * *

Sam's whole face lit up when she came through the door. "Miss McHugh, welcome back."

Alex smiled at him. "Hello again, Sam. I'm not here to eat," she said quickly, as she saw him gather menus, "I need to see Morgan right away."

"And he needs to see you, Miss McHugh," said Sam. "Follow me, please."

Very much to Alex' surprise, Sam led her to the secure booth, knocking on the panel. "Your guest has arrived, sir."

Inside the booth, Morgan stood up. "Please, show her in."

Alex stepped into the booth, and Sam held her chair for her as she seated herself. Morgan said, "Thank you, Sam," and seated himself. Sam left, but almost immediately, some of the other staff came in without knocking, skipping the usual extras and laying out some of their favorite appetizers. Not the crab cakes, strangely enough, but since she'd been his taste tester during the development phase that was for the best.

There was also, oddly, just exactly enough. That wasn't like him. "Morgan, what's going on?"

He took a fork and stabbed one of the stuffed mushroom caps. "Is it that obvious?"

She frowned at him, just a little, but he was trying so hard. "Morgan."

He leaned over and held out the morsel on the tip of his fork. She humored him and leaned forward to take it in her mouth.

"I almost lost you today," said Morgan as she enjoyed his treat.

_Thought so. _"It was just an accident," she said. "I face worse every day."

"I know." He took another cap for himself and chewed it thoughtfully. "You're an FBI agent, and I love that you're an FBI agent. It's what you do, it suits your nature. I even like _Casey_ because of it. I couldn't possibly love you and not love that about you, and while I don't love the danger I accept the danger you sometimes have to face because you are that girl." He stabbed another mushroom angrily.

"But what I don't love _(stab)_ and can't accept _(stab)_ is the possibility that something as stupid, as meaningless, as a gas leak in the room under yours, could take you away from me." He shoved the mushrooms in his mouth and started chewing. "I can't let that happen."

She waited until his jaw slowed, and his throat moved. "You can't stop it, Morgan. That's life."

"No, I can't," he said, reaching into his pocket, "I may have to let you face danger alone, but that doesn't mean I have to let you face _life _alone."

She watched that hand move so, so carefully…"Morgan?"

Someone rapped on the panel, and they both jerked in their seats. Morgan dropped his head against his free hand. "I gave you guys a _strict_ timetable…"

The sommelier came in uninvited, and presented his burden. "Your wine, sir."

"Wine?" said Morgan, raising his head, scowling. "I didn't order any wine."

"Courtesy of Mr. Charles Bartowski." The server presented the bottle to Alex.

She was more interested in the bearer. "Manoosh?"

* * *

**A/N2 **Morgan doesn't like it so much when someone else does it to him, does he?


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N **Wasn't sure I'd get this done in time. This is a very difficult episode to redo, and I had a lot of personal running about over the weekend, which is normally when I'd be writing this.

* * *

"_Talk to me, Bartowski." _

"_Call me Sandra."_

"_He calls it a Governor."_

"_Manoosh?"_

* * *

When the phone rang, Vivian answered it with a smile on her face, but that didn't last long. In fact, the longer the call went on, the less of a smile it became. "Thank you," she said at last. "It was a fine effort, although it appears Fate has intervened. I will await your next report." She hung up, her eyes cold and hard, but not for her team. "Mr. Decker?" she called, leaving her suite.

"Yes, what is it?" said Decker from his rooms, where he was going over the latest operational reports, making slight adjustments to their timetable.

She marched in and positioned herself before his desk, adopting a neutral stance. He turned away from his machines, clasped his hands on the desktop and gave her his full attention.

"You are aware that there was a gas leak in Agent McHugh's rooms today?" said Vivian.

"That's terrible," said Decker in a most unconvincing tone. "I do hope she's all right."

Vivian was convinced, but not necessarily of that. "Do you, Mr. Decker? And why might that be?"

He sat back in his chair. "Well, it would spoil our bet if she died of natural causes, wouldn't it?"

Technically, no, but she knew that he knew that. "A gas leak into her bedroom would hardly be natural causes." Nor would it be the work of a professional's professional. 'Death by misadventure' was not something such a person would want to see on a coroner's report, unless their name happened to be 'Misadventure'.

Decker nodded off-handedly, yielding the point. "Not the leak, but the gas certainly."

"It's the leak I'm concerned about. That early in the day, with the target out and about, it served no one's purposes."

Decker nodded. "As accidents go, it was singularly ill-timed," he said, adopting her formal manner of speech. "As ploys go, it was very much in the classic vein." He dropped the mockery. "Or it would have been, if it had been deployed correctly. By whoever."

_Whomever, you cretin. _Vivian ignored the unspoken insinuation. Of course her men had deployed it correctly, or attempted to, at any rate, but the early strike, if it _was_ an early strike, against Agent McHugh was bound to fail. "This makes things harder for both of us. At worst, she'll be on her guard now."

"That's true," said Decker.

"At the very least she won't be sleeping in that room for a few days. This complicates things immeasurably."

"I completely agree," said Decker.

"I shall be very much put out if this 'innocent accident' turns to have been anything but."

Decker raised a hand, two fingers extended. "Scout's honor."

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Casa de Woodcombe…

"…and we breathe in as we lower the baby to our chest," said Devon, taking a deep cleansing breath, "And we blow it back out again as we lift her back up again."

Ellie sat and watched as her husband did his baby-yoga exercises. "Wow, Devon, you really got into all that mommy-and-me stuff, didn't you?"

"You bet," he said casually. "I could do this forever." Then he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to. "Uh, I mean, Clara's a rad yogi, way more grounded than those other babies, it really wasn't fair to them to have her in the class."

"Uh-huh," said Ellie with a smile. The phone rang, so she left him to his playtime and went to see who needed her now. Probably Manoosh, the poor kid was lost without his video. Sure enough, the caller ID said it was the lab. "Hey, Manoosh…Sarah? What are you doing in the lab?...Protect Chuck from what? Why would he even be there? Of course, silly me not to think of that, but–? An _assassin? _Why?"

Devon looked over to her and decided to take a break from his baby-lifting. Ellie noticed him stand up and gestured imperatively at the TV. "Yeah, we're turning it on now, but that was like, last night! Yeah? Yeah, that does make sense. What was _Mom_ doing there?" Ellie pinched her nose, and closed her eyes, just listening, until…"You did an upload without my authorization? Whose idea was that?...Yeah, sounds like something I'd get from a committee…So did you at least get something good out of it? Not Chuck, well, that sounds like good news to–Alex? And you sent _Manoosh_ after her? No! He can't leave the lab! What it is with you people always leaving the lab when I tell you not to? Well of course Chuck can't leave, that's another reason why Manoosh had to stay. Now _I_ have to come in, or I don't know, maybe I should just leave all of you trapped there for a few days." She moved to get her coat, blowing a kiss to her baby and making an 'ugh' face to her husband. "No, of course I was kidding…"

* * *

Back in her office, Vivian Volkoff answered her phone, and listened to her underling's report, her expression becoming more like a smile with every word. "Excellent."

* * *

Anyway, back at the restaurant…

"Manoosh?" said Morgan, shaking his head. "I don't have anyone on my wait staff named Manoosh."

"What are you doing here?" asked Alex, taking a look out the door into the main room.

"I just told you, Chuck sent me, I mean Agent Charles did."

"You call Agent Charles 'Chuck'?" asked Alex.

"It's a…complicated relationship," said Manoosh, setting down his tray. "I really work for his sister, but we're like family, really."

Family. "Wait, _you're_ Manoosh?" asked Morgan.

* * *

Now that she was out of his office, Clyde Decker checked his latest messages. "Excellent."

* * *

Manoosh spared the bearded troll a glance. "Yeah."

Morgan stood up and lunged across the table. "Let me shake your hand, sir," he said loudly. Manoosh stuck out his hand automatically, and Morgan grabbed hold. "Thank you so much for being there when Alex needed you." He pumped Manoosh's hand up and down, while Manoosh tried hard to pull it away. "Anytime you want, you come in here and it's all on me." He let go of Manoosh's hand and pointed. "Oo, better yet! Free crab cakes for life! You name it, anything you want."

Manoosh looked at Alex. "Is he always like this?"

She blushed, looking adorably shy. "He loves me…"

Manoosh saw the way she looked at the tro–Morgan, knowing she'd never look at him that way. "Yeah." He saved her life, and she was properly grateful for that. He might have been her hero, but he wasn't her boyfriend, and never would be.

"My advice," said Alex, softly, "Take the crab cakes. They're really good."

He knew that, he'd had one once. "Um…okay."

"Done and done!" said Morgan. He looked back and forth between them. "Now, what's all this about Chuck?"

Right. Mission. Manoosh pointed at Alex. "There's an assassin, and Chuck says he's coming for her." He turned his head to look at Alex. "I mean, for _you_–"

Behind him someone tapped on the panel. "Your wine, sir?"

* * *

The progress bar on the monitor reached 100% as the watch face blinked green twice. "It's done, Chuck," said Sarah, as Mary set about disconnecting all the wires that fed new instructions into the Governor.

"Very good," said Graboid. "Get that to Manoosh ASAP."

The doors were already swinging behind Mary as she left. "Your mother's on her way," said Sarah. She sat at a console and made a call. "Casey? I need surveillance on the lab. Chuck's loaded up and I have to stay until either Ellie gets here or Manoosh gets back, to do the download and open the door." Until then her husband was a sitting duck. "Briefing to follow."

"Roger that," said her partner. "I'll mobilize Archer, too."

* * *

"What is this with the wine?" asked Morgan to the room at large. "I didn't order any wine."

Manoosh flashed. Bracing himself against the table he lashed out backward with his foot, catching the other waiter unprepared. Metal rang and glass crashed and shattered as the tray and its contents flew to their respective dooms.

People shouted in alarm as Manoosh finally turned to see what he'd done. The waiter was clambering to his feet, reaching into his jacket. "You shouldn't have done that, pipsqueak."

Alex recognized the voice. "Agent Johnson?" She went to the door to see for herself.

Johnson saw her there and shifted his aim as he pulled out his pistol. Manoosh kicked the gun from his hand, but Johnson kicked out himself and knocked the smaller man to the floor. Manoosh flipped back to his feet, but by then Johnson had grabbed the neck of the wine bottle that had broken, brandishing the jagged glass like a multi-pronged dagger.

"Yo, dude!"

Of course that meant him, so Manoosh flicked a glance to the special booth, and saw Morgan there, with the bottle of wine he'd brought himself. Intersect senses heard the bottle pass through the air as Morgan tossed it to him, and Intersect reflexes caught it by the neck. He whacked it against the nearest table. It bounced off, so he whacked it again, harder.

A chunk of the table broke off. Everybody looked at it, but Manoosh processed the data faster. He flipped the bottle into the air, felt the solid weight as it thunked into his hand, and smiled at Johnson. _Oh, yeah._

Agent Johnson should have had no chance. Between the bottle and the Intersect he should have fallen with just a few lightning-swift blows. But Manoosh was losing control, and the harder he fought the more control he lost. Blows that should have knocked his enemy out landed on an arm or a shoulder. Johnson was down but by no means out, and he scrambled for his fallen gun. Manoosh lunged, swinging the bottle down, but Johnson got his gun first and fired.

The bullet hit the bottle and ricocheted, but the force of it sent the bottle flying into the air. As most eyes followed the bottle, Johnson took aim at Manoosh, even as Manoosh fell bonelessly to the floor. Johnson followed with the gun, not realizing until too late that his target was unconscious. The bottle, meanwhile, hit the top of its arc and came back down again, in pretty much the same path.

Johnson saw Alex standing alone, and lifted his gun.

Morgan grabbed the bottle out of the air and swung hard, breaking a hand, a rib, a nose, and then Johnson was down and out. Morgan stood there, panting, as first the waiters and then the patrons safely behind them exploded in applause. He turned to look at all the noise behind him. Sam smiled and he smiled back. He raised the bottle in victory, and looked at Alex.

"Manoosh!" she said, ignoring it all to check on her fallen friend.

"Manoosh!" said Morgan, dropping the bottle as he knelt beside her.

Sam dived forward and caught it before it could damage anything else. He handed it off to one of the low-ranks to put back in the vault. "I'll call an ambulance for him, sir."

Morgan said, "No, Sam, wait!" He got out his phone, and looked up a number. "Chuck! Chuck, your boy Manoosh, he's down!...I don't know why, a fake waiter came after Alex, and he tried to fight him, but he was all twitchy, you know…yeah, yeah. Okay, we'll do that. Thanks, Chuck." He ended the call and turned to Sam. "Put him in my office. They've got someone on the way already."

* * *

Chuck considered his friend's words. "That was quick."

* * *

Sam detailed a few men to lift Manoosh and carry him gently into the back. Morgan and Alex followed as the other waiters brought out some new tables, chairs, and related paraphernalia, while others set up screens to block the mess. FBI would be around eventually, and they liked their crime scenes pristine.

Morgan, Alex, and Sam watched as Manoosh was set on a cot and covered with a blanket. Morgan snapped his fingers. "Oh, Sam, before I forget, make sure someone gets that bottle of wine. They may want it as evidence, or something."

"I hope not, sir," said Sam. "But if they want it, it's already back in the vault."

Morgan's eyes went wide. "We have a _vault_?"

"A small one, sir," said Sam, gesturing with his hands. "Melbourne Old and Yellow is dangerous stuff, specially distilled for close-quarters combat. It needs careful handling." Sam changed the subject, pointing to Manoosh as he twitched in unconsciousness. "Will you need a guard, sir?"

Morgan looked at Alex, Alex looked at Sam. "What's your clearance?" she asked. When he told her, she shook her head. "Not high enough. I'll have to guard him myself."

She looked out the door and saw Agent Johnson being dragged past, no respect for that waiter's uniform. Morgan followed her gaze. "You know him?"

Alex got out her phone. "Agent Johnson," she said, scrolling through her contacts. "I took over his operation in Miami, and he got all pissy about it. Now I know why. Feel free to guard him all you like." She turned away. "This is Special Agent Alex McHugh. Put me through to the Director."

* * *

Mary Bartowski spun her car into the parking lot by the restaurant. With no time to waste and no reason to waste it, she walked out of the lot and across the street.

Behind her, in the lot, a man sitting in the dark of a parked car lifted a radio to his lips. "She's here."

The radio crackled back, "Excellent."

Mary walked into the restaurant and right up to the man at the podium. "I'm looking for Morgan Grimes." The man there turned and pointed to a hallway that led to the manager's office by way of the kitchen. As she walked away he spoke into his mike that she was on her way.

Mary opened the door to Morgan's office but made no attempt to go in, merely standing there until whoever had the gun, and there had to be somebody with a gun, satisfied themselves that she was who she said she was.

Fortunately Alex had worked with her before. "Hey, Grandma Bear."

"Grandma Bear?" said Morgan, sitting out of the line of fire. "Whoever gave you that name must have had balls of steel."

"My previous call sign was 'Little Tractor,'" said Mary, stepping into the room and closing the door. "I made Chuck give me a new one."

"'Little Tractor'?" said Morgan excitedly. "Cool. Thematically appropriate, even." He made air quotes. "'My Mom, the Diversion.' So who was the mark?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Another time, Morgan." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Governor. "Put this on his wrist, if you want him to live."

Morgan did want him to live. The guy hadn't had even one crab cake yet, and here he owed him for a second rescue on top of it. Manoosh jerked suddenly as the watch face flashed green, but the twitching stopped and his breathing became regular.

"Good," said Mary. "Make sure he doesn't take that off, no one does. At this point even an accidental flash could kill him."

"You got it, Mrs. B."

The door slammed open, a woman with a gun framed squarely in it, lots of men with guns along the edges. The woman stepped forward and stuck her gun in Mary's face. "Mrs. B. Is that what they call you now?"

"Jane?" said Alex.

"I'm sorry," said Frost. "Do I know you?"

"No. No one does," said Jane. "I make sure of that. But I know you, 'Mrs. B'. The world's greatest and most hard-to-find assassin."

"Ah, now I know you," said Mary, acting enlightened. "You're the _second_ greatest."

Jane smiled, not nicely. "Not for much longer. I thought this little job might draw you out, and here I am, right again, as usual." She cocked her gun dramatically. "The funny part is, they'll probably give me a medal for shooting you."

"No, they won't, Jane," said Alex, coming up beside Mary. "She's not an assassin."

"You'll stay out of this, Mrs. Grimes, if you know what's good for you."

"'Mrs. Grimes'?" said Morgan, grinning. "You little _minx_, you."

"Shut up," said Jane, gesturing with her gun, "Over there by the little woman."

"I have a name," said Alex.

"Good for you, Sandra. Stand up for yourself."

Alex brought her gun up and stuck it in Jane's face. "Thanks, I will. The name's McHugh. Special Agent Alex McHugh, FBI. Move and you're dead."

Jane didn't move. "You move, and you're all dead."

"Won't help you, will it?"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Mary with a sigh. "This is all so pointless." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, slowly, and pressed a contact button, setting it on speaker.

A woman picked up on the first ring. "Mary?"

"Sarah," said Mary loudly and quickly, before Sarah could say anything more. "You remember what you said earlier about Verbanski's assassins? Can you remind me, please, I think one of them may be involved here."

"That's impossible, Mary, they're fictional."

Jane flinched, and stared at the phone.

"I remember that part," said Mary. "I thought maybe she modeled them after somebody."

"She used to," said Sarah. "But nowadays they're all fake. She didn't want to get sued."

"That must be it. Thank you, dear, false alarm." Mary pressed the button, and looked at Jane. "See? There's no payout here. Nothing in it for you except an FBI manhunt."

Jane lifted her gun, and her men stood down behind her. "That bastard Decker set me up."

Mary nodded, putting up a hand to block Alex' gun as well. "Looks that way. Stupid of him, considering that you really _are_ the world's greatest assassin after all."

Jane smiled again, but it still wasn't very nice. She flung up a hand, and her crew pulled away from the door and vanished. She backed to the door. "We were never here."

"No one was," said Mary, and Jane closed the door on them all.

"That could have gone worse," said Alex, finally looking nervous.

"Very true," said Mary. "Can you to take care of Manoosh from here? I've got some business I need to take care of."

"And so do I," said Morgan, suddenly realizing that they had been in danger. "Like where the hell did my staff go?"

"It's not their fault," said Mary, going to the door. "I told them I had guests. You know, my son is really very good at what he does."

They watched her go, Alex held loosely in Morgan's arms. "Alone at last, Mrs. Grimes."

"Morgan…"

"Alex," said Morgan, and he opened his mouth to say more.

"Oh, my head," said Manoosh.

* * *

Mary crossed the street to where she'd left her car, and stopped, scanning the lot for the deepest shadows. As quietly as a mouse in church she walked across the lot and adapted herself to the darkness. As she got closer she could hear the sounds of a heated discussion.

"–look like an accident," said Jane. Someone mumbled something. "Use your imagination, just don't use the gas leak story. Even the FBI should be able to see through that one. While you're going after the civilians I'll get Decker, and then we can see about this Verbanski character."

"Her name is Gertrude, if that helps," said Mary.

Jane looked up, into the gloom. How the hell did a civilian manage to get this close? "Mary?" she asked, her hand going for her weapon.

Mary Bartowski fired her silenced weapon seven times. Six bodies fell to the ground, one shot twice for good measure. "Call me Frost."

* * *

"Download complete," said Ellie, as the door light turned green. She checked the telemetry, all values well within bounds. "How do you feel, Chuck?"

"Glad for the chair," said Chuck. "Is it my imagination, or does this room just pack more of a wallop than the glasses?"

Ellie made a note as Chuck continued. "Anyone heard from Mom, yet?"

The phone started ringing. "Maybe that's her now," said Sarah, going to answer it. The caller ID did not have her mother-in-law's name. "Morgan?"

"Chuck?" yelled Morgan, knowing that wherever Sarah was, his best friend couldn't be too far away. "Chuck?"

"I'm right here, Morgan," said Chuck, sounding pained. "What's the matter? Something wrong with Manoosh?"

"No, your boys fine," said Morgan quickly. "But your mother! Alex' FBI buddies just took her away in handcuffs."

Headache completely gone. All three Bartowskis gathered close to the phone as Chuck asked, "On what charge?"

Alex answered, "Murder."

* * *

**A/N2 **Let me know how this worked for you. I considered stopping with 'Call me Frost', but who am I to argue with canon?

Yes, that was a joke.


	37. Common Enemy

**A/N **This is my revision of the Hackoff, the first and in canon the last part of the Decker conspiracy, which continued without Decker. I wish I knew why they blew him up like that. Maybe the actor needed to go elsewhere, I don't know, but in this story he's not going anywhere. This conspiracy continues through the Curse and into the Santa Suit, so we have a little way to go, yet.

* * *

"_It appears Fate has intervened." _

"_That was quick."_

"'_My Mom, the Diversion.'"_

"_Murder."_

* * *

Late in the evening…

Vivian Volkoff set her phone down with a gentle thump, very much at odds with the anger in her soul that found expression in a mild, ladylike, "Blast."

"Something wrong?" asked Decker, always keen to hear other people's bad news.

_Oh, it wanted only this._ "You will eventually find out anyway, so I may as well tell you now," said Vivian, not turning around. "My primary agent in ridding me of that McHugh girl has failed, rather spectacularly." She began to tremble, so badly did she want to smash something, but no… "He was defeated in full view of the staff and patrons at her favorite restaurant, by two waiters, with a rancid bottle of wine." She seized a bottle of a somewhat better vintage, her knuckles white about the neck, and… poured herself a glass.

Decker smirked. He liked smirking. "You have others, I presume?"

"I have other moles in the FBI, yes, and elsewhere," said Vivian. She could feel the burn of his amusement. "But using this one meant the risk was little enough. Agent Johnson had a vendetta that served my purposes, and his main usefulness to me was low." As a shield for one of her primary distributors into the US, he'd also failed spectacularly. She still didn't know why, but they had to have removed him from Miami, just prior to detonating Mr. St. Germaine and all his works, for _some_ reason.

"Your man will talk," said Decker. "They all do." He flicked his paper, as noisily as possible. Salt in the wound. "So all your 'power of command' got you was a large sign, telling the world that you tried to kill Agent McHugh. A billboard would have been cheaper."

"Not the world," said Vivian. Her intermediaries had intermediaries. "Just Agent Charles, and whomever he chooses to tell." She held the glass, watching the surface of the wine. Not a ripple.

Clyde shrugged. "It's not like he needs any more reasons to want you dead."

She set the glass down before the wine spilled. "Yes, _thank you_, Mr. Decker, and perhaps you'd like to inform me as to how your team has fared?"

Decker threw his paper to one side and rose from the sofa, walking behind the bar. "You want to know the truth, Vivian? I thought your attempts to strike at Agent McHugh were silly, childish spite." He poured himself a glass of something harder than rancid wine.

She hated it when he was right. She loved it when he tried to divert. "You don't know, do you?"

Decker surprised himself by not breathing out smoke. She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. _Dammit! _He tried to shrug it off. "I'll know when the Viper succeeds, and he never fails."

"So you have no contingency plans?" asked Vivian. She raised her glass to her lips, the wine inside a placid pool.

Decker scowled, trapped behind the bar. "What do you know, Miss Volkoff?"

Sip. "I know that one of my operatives was among those dispatched by the FBI to take their traitor into custody, and no, he took no action against Miss McHugh." Sip. "I know that there was a second attempt on her life before they arrived, which was countered by the sudden appearance of Frost."

"Why would Mary Bartowski be there?" said Decker, slamming the plug into the decanter's neck.

"Unknown at this time," said Vivian, who hated not knowing things, especially about Frost. Sip. "What I do know is that she was found standing over a number of bodies minutes later, and was taken into custody, claiming self-defense."

Decker smiled, and toasted his glass against hers gently, making it ring.

She reached up a hand to still the sound. She hated it when he smiled. It meant he was about to be clever. "So you approve of my actions against Agent McHugh after all?"

"No," he said. "Still silly, still childish. But useful, for all that, so I don't care." He drained his glass, and set it on the bar for someone else to clean up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few phone calls of my own to make." Frost in custody was not an opportunity to be wasted. It should be used, savored. Prolonged.

* * *

That same night, at Verbanski Corp. HQ (because HQ sounds so much more macho than headquarters)…

His report delivered, briefing given, traitors and Vipers and Frost, oh my, John Casey strolled around the office of the CEO with a drink in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other. A Costa Gravan Royale was a special cigar for a special night, but this night had Gertrude so he didn't need it.

The first display he stopped at was the nearest, and dearest to his heart, taken from him in 1995. "Gladys."

If Gertrude thought it silly that he gave his guns girls' names, she didn't show it. "Mm-hmm."

John stroked the barrel with a finger, found a sheen of oil. "You take good care of her."

"Every day," said Gertrude. "She's ready to fire." She looked down. "Are you going to…take her with you?"

John raised her face up, to look into her eyes. "Not just yet," he said. "I'll let you say goodbye first."

* * *

Visiting hours at the city jail, the next day…

"Don't worry about me, dear," said Mary Bartowski, looking as serene in her orange-jumpsuit-and-shackles ensemble as she did in her expensive Russian furs. "I've been in lots of prisons, most of which aren't as nice as this one."

"It's different now, Mom," said Chuck. "You're not the law. You're not a spy. You don't have the Government or Volkoff protecting you anymore…" He waved his hand around the dayroom, and all the other inmates chatting with their visitors.

"Chuck, it's the city jail, not C-Block," said Mary. She looked around, sounding wistful. "Actually, I'd almost prefer C-Block."

"How can you say that?"

"At least in C-Block you know what everyone in there with you is like. Here you don't have that luxury, and I'll have you know I'm far from the worst inmate here."

She was a government spy. She secret ran Volkoff's entire criminal empire, and was responsible for uncounted deaths in the name of that service. Not that anyone needed or wanted to remind her of that fact. "So who's the worst?" asked Sarah.

"That would be her," said Mary, pointing across the room. A young woman sat talking with some other young ladies at a table, shaking her head about something. "She drugged her friend for years to keep her subordinate, but got caught out when the friend was in a car accident. She doesn't deny it, but she doesn't think she did anything wrong, either. She'd do it again in a heartbeat, in fact that's what she got caught doing."

Mary, on the other hand, mourned her dead, and would until the day she died. "Okay, that's bad," said Sarah, appalled.

Apparently her friends thought so too, rising from their chairs with expressions compounded of disgust and dismay even before the loudspeaker announced the end of visiting hours.

"Don't worry, Mom," said Chuck, giving her an awkward kiss on the cheek, "We have everyone on the team doing whatever they can to get you out of here."

"That's an awful lot of firepower, dear," said Mary, who knew better than to expect a kiss from Sarah. "It's a simple case of self-defense. I know they have only my word for it–" for a second they all basked in the pride of her accomplishment, taking down six opponents, all armed to the teeth, before they could get off even a single shot "–but the evidence will justify my actions. I'll be out of here in no time, you'll see."

Some guards came up within hearing range to escort her back to her cell, and that was that.

* * *

Outside, on the phone…

"What do you mean there's no evidence?" said Chuck. He stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot outside the 'correctional facility', as it was so euphemistically called. Sarah took an extra step, stopped and turned, eyebrow raised, as he continued freaking out. "She killed six assassins. She was found standing over their bodies. All their gear. All their guns. How can that much evidence just disappear?"

"Unknown at this time, Chuck," said Hannah, who was glad enough for something interesting to do. "I'm checking for a rubbed out paper trail, but I'm not finding one. The evidence may have been sidetracked en route."

"Be easier to just destroy the chain of whatever they call it that makes it evidence in the first place," said Chuck. He stepped back to allow a prison van to exit the gate.

"Custody," said Sarah, following him.

"Custody, right," said Chuck to Hannah. "Without that all those…things…could be sitting on the courtroom floor and they'd be meaningless."

"That's true," said Hannah, who watched a lot of cop shows on TV and knew those rules already, "But I'm still not seeing any sudden additional weapons cache in the evidence room inventory, with or without correct documentation."

"Thanks, Hannah." Chuck looked at Sarah, and saw her Agent Mask slip into place at the tone in his voice, the look in his eyes. For the first time he began to wonder if he had an Agent Mask of his own. Or if he should. "Keep on it. Call if you need help."

"I will, Agent Charles."

Chuck prepared a summary even as he put his phone away, but Sarah was right there with him, as she always was and would always be. "Chuck, without those weapons as evidence, your mother's not getting out of jail."

He wouldn't have minded a little more tact, though. "She's a sitting duck," said Chuck, heading back into the visitor's office.

"Visiting hours are over, folks," said the new guard on duty.

Must have been a shift change, too, but that could be made to work in their favor. This guard wouldn't remember them as family members. Chuck held up his ID. "Federal agents, Guard… Bishop. We'd appreciate a word with your superiors about the security arrangements for one of your prisoners, Mary Bartowski."

Bishop entered the name into the system, to get the pertinent details before he went to the bother of calling anyone about anything. "How do you spell that last name again, sir?" He entered it letter by letter, as Chuck went through the usual ritual of spelling his last name. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not seeing any prisoners with that name in our system."

* * *

Manoosh woke up, surrounded by friendly, beeping machines. He felt the constriction of the Governor on his wrist and raised his arm. Nothing wrong there. He still wore the waiter's shirt, hopefully the pants too, anything but the paper dress. He made a fist. Nothing wrong there either, except that he felt ridiculously weak. Even the watch was heavy on his arm, and he put it down again.

Ellie pushed through the door. "Hey, Manoosh."

Of course she knew he was alert. Manoosh scanned the area around his head and spotted the sensors for the scanner easily. Too easily, and too many. "What are all these?" he asked, moving his head. No problems there.

"All those new sensors we just installed in the Intersect Room," said Ellie. "Chuck and I moved them here last night, when they brought you in."

'They' who? "Alex…?"

Ellie shook her head. "Casey and Carina. Alex and Morgan are out of the loop on our location." She blushed. "Or did you mean, how is Alex? You saved her, again. Morgan finished him off after you collapsed, but if you hadn't been there to stop that guy in the first place–"

Yeah, he remembered that. Not the fight, but definitely the waking up afterward, seeing those two in each other's arms. Lucky bastard. Or…maybe not so lucky. "Does he really have two commendations for valor?"

"Yes he does," said Ellie, wishing she had an excuse to be writing stuff down. "And he earned them both." Sort of. Behind the scenes, and not by doing any of the things he was awarded them for.

"Probably just for having the guts to date Casey's daughter."

"Actually, dating Casey's daughter got him out of the action-hero game," said Ellie. "With all the danger and risk in her life, and her father's life, she needs a safe place to call home, and he's it." She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Or he would be, if he'd stop dragging his feet and ask her already. Honestly, I don't know what he's waiting for."

* * *

Morgan was yanked from sleep by a commotion in the hall. Several sharp knocks on someone's door and of course Mrs. P making it louder than it had to be, trying to keep the noise down. He reached out a hand, but no Alex. She'd gone with her father and Carina to give her report to her Director, rather than go in with a bunch of FBI guys she didn't know. Not when they already had one traitor, and no one believed Agent Johnson was working alone, but she was safe, for now.

He would have gone back to sleep then and there, but the word 'police' has a rousing effect on some people, and Morgan was one of those people.

He shuffled to the door and pressed his ear against it, so Mrs. P wouldn't see him. He heard some hesitant male voice say "we're here for Furry-con" and was instantly jealous. None of the other managers wanted to switch shifts with him for that weekend. Dammit.

"My wife?" said the voice. "She went out last night, to meet some of her cadre. She's not here right now, though."

"'Cadre', sir?" asked a flat policeman-ish voice.

The husband's, got low, confidential. Embarrassed. "They get together every con we go to, but I stay out of it. She's much more militantly anti-brony than I am…"

"Do you know where she was supposed to meet these, uh, friends?"

"No." The husband was beginning to sound worried. "She mentioned dinner, but she didn't say where…"

The policeman began his practiced, unemotional, "Sir, We're going to have to ask you to accompany us to the station…" but Morgan turned away from the door at that point and headed back to bed. Whatever trouble this guy's My Little Pony-hating wife got herself into, he was sure she deserved it.

* * *

Meanwhile, at Carmichael Industries…

"What are you talking about, Bartowski?" snapped Casey. Fortunately last night left him in a good mood. "This is America. Our prison systems don't just _lose_ people."

"And they didn't this time, either, Big Guy," said Chuck. "Hannah found the transfer order, but it was for a specific prisoner designation, which I saw on my mother's jumpsuit. The corresponding record for that prisoner has been wiped."

"I'm not gonna ask how you know that," said Casey. "Any ideas on who wiped it?"

"Technically? No," admitted the Piranha. "I'm not the only really good hacker in the world, but between me and my dad I think we can find out soon enough."

"So who hired him, that's the question," asked Carina.

"Three guesses," said Casey. "And as long as one of them is 'Decker' you'd be right. He's working with Vivian, and we know he hired the Viper."

"I never should have sent my mother to deliver the Governor," said Chuck.

"You had to, Chuck," said Sarah. "The Viper would never have believed anyone else could be the assassin she was really looking for."

"And now she's in his hands," said Chuck. "And his hands are Vivian's hands."

"Nah," said Casey. "That's not his style. Decker's hands are the situation. Vivian's hands are the _threat_."

Something started flashing in the bottom of the screen. "What's that?" asked Carina, far enough away that the flashing light was the most obvious thing on the board.

"What's what?" asked Chuck, looking around his screen. Ah. "Incoming message." He clicked it. "It's Ellie." Fingers tapped with machine-gun speeds. "Oh, no."

"What's 'oh no'?" said Sarah, leaning in close. "Oh no."

Casey loomed over them both. "Speaking of threats…"

Carina flung herself from her chair. "What's going on?"

Chuck tapped Ellie's message on his screen. "She just got an email from Clyde Decker. He wants to meet."

* * *

One unconscious abduction later…

Carina sat on a crumbling parking block outside a crumbling warehouse, where Decker had abandoned them after making his demands. No doubt the rest of the team would be here soon, now that Chuck's many trackers weren't blocked, but for now her head was spinning as badly as if she'd just been freshly tranqed.

"Well, that explains the overkill," said Chuck, staring at the decaying structures around them.

"A virus that can destroy all the data in the world before you can hit the Back button," said Carina. "Who would make such a thing?"

He sat next to her with a grunt. "We'll find out when we get there, I guess."

"And Decker expects us to just give it to him?" asked Carina. "The guy can't organize his sock drawer without being evil."

Chuck, who knew a thing or two about evil sock drawers, tossed small stones out into the light, click-click-click. "I know that, Carina."

She put her hand over his. "Don't worry, Chuck, we'll find your mother."

Chuck laughed, once. "It's not my mother I'm worried about," he said. "It's Clara, and Devon, all the innocents that are getting drawn into this thing because of me. How do I keep _them_ safe?"

"You'll think of something, Chuck," said Carina, with solid faith. "And I'm sure that when you do, pretty high up on the list will be a step that says 'don't give people like Decker a virus named Omen'."

* * *

**A/N2 **My counterpart to Lester here is a much nastier piece of work, not that what Lester did in canon wasn't his nastiest piece of business in the series.

They never said what became of the husband in the bunny suit after Sarah knocked him out, or how the Viper practiced her trade while married to him, or what he did when she was killed. I decided to fix those oversights, and discovered a neat little bit of serendipity. Way back in episode two of this season, I mentioned that Morgan put My Little Pony in a Super-Mario Bros. background and made it the desktop on his phone. Just a throwaway joke at the time. Then when I googled the question of rivalries in the anthropomorphic fandom for this chapter (and discovered that there actually are some), one of them turned out to be with the 'bronies', My Little Pony fans. A totally unexpected little connection to the beginning of this series.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N **So many problems with retconning Chuck into a super-hacker this late in the game, not least of which is trying to explain why a super-hacker would be so devastated by Bryce and Jill to begin with. Nothing I could do about that in this series, but at least I let the Piranha do his thing much earlier, even if it meant I couldn't do that nice little reveal they did in this episode. One of those little sacrifices I had to make.

* * *

"_Blast." _

"_She's a sitting duck."_

"_His hands are Vivian's hands."_

"_That explains the overkill."_

* * *

"This makes no sense," said Casey.

"Which part?" asked Carina, who loved to watch Casey try to figure stuff out. Like watching an elephant try to roller-skate.

Casey hooked thumb over his shoulder. "The part where a guy like Decker thinks that kidnapping his mother out of prison, in order to make him steal a computer virus that can send us all back to the Stone Age–"

"That's such a cliché," said Chuck, looking over the code samples that Decker had given him.

Casey turned to aim his grunt in the right direction. "Live with it. He can't think it'll work, Bartowski, even with someone as sloppy sentimental as you."

"You're assuming he wants to use it to destroy the world."

_It's a world-destroying virus, isn't it?_ "What else can you do with it?"

"Keep it in your pocket, to make sure no one _else_ destroys it," said Chuck. "Whatever Decker's endgame is, I doubt it involves stone knives and bearskins."

"Unless he thought he could protect his own stuff somehow," said Carina.

"Hello-o," said Chuck. "What part of 'network' do you not understand? Even if he could protect the spot of earth he's standing on, he still couldn't go anywhere."

Casey thought about that for a while."So you're agreeing with me," he said.

"Yes, Casey, I'm agreeing with you, this makes no sense," said Chuck. "So what we have to do now–"

"Hold on, Bartowski," said Casey. He took a deep breath, looking around at what seemed a brand new world, "I'm enjoying the moment."

"Don't know why," said Carina. "All he said was that you both recognized nonsense, but you shot your mouth off about it faster. Hard to call that an achievement."

Normal expression completely back. "Way to spoil it, Princess Buzzkill."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Hard to call that an achievement either," said Casey."More like your default setting."

"Take it outside," said Chuck.

Casey sat down. "Just calling it like I see it, Bartowski."

"No, I mean it, Casey, take it outside," said Chuck, fingers flying on the keyboard. "I have to see what's what about this code, so I need Carina to get me a bottle of Chardonnay."

Carina stood up and walked away.

_Too late. _"Hey, Miller," called Casey. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get my coat for a trip to the store," said Carina. "Where did you think I was going?"

"Carina helping out?" said Casey, watching her leave. "I definitely want to be here to see _that_."

"Sorry, big guy, I have a different mission for you."

Casey stood back up again, ready to get more guns if he didn't have enough. "Already?"

"Someone kidnapped my mother, Casey," said Chuck. "And you have a daughter in the FBI."

* * *

Sarah pressed the End button, always wanting to be sure that the call was finished before she put the phone back in her pocket. She didn't start heading for the door, though, so Ellie relaxed and held out Clara to her aunt. "More wine?"

Sarah received the little bundle of baby girl with proper respect. "More Chardonnay."

"Again?" said Ellie, running a hand through her hair with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" asked Sarah. "I thought you were glad when he started hacking again."

"Well, yeah," said Ellie. "Not only had you finally gotten him out of his rut with Stanford, but he finally trusted you enough to let you know about it. He married you before he did _that_." She took a sip of her coffee.

"That way I couldn't be made to testify against him," said Sarah, with a little laugh, but for some reason Ellie didn't seem to find that joke as funny as she did. "But you know the government routinely employs hackers, anyway, and it wasn't like he ever caused any trouble, so it wasn't really an issue."

Ellie set the mug down. "I remember when Chuck would go into these hacking binges before Stanford. He and Morgan had this whole routine…"

"A routine?"

"Yes. They used to call it, 'The Routine'."

Sarah smiled at Clara. "Such a creative name." She looked up. "Morgan's idea?"

Ellie sat back and watched her sister-in-law hold her daughter. "No, Chuck's. He never wasted time on the meaningless details."

Because he obsessed about the meaningful ones. Sarah wondered suddenly how long it would have taken Chuck to propose, much less actually go through with the wedding, if Orion hadn't pushed him into it so suddenly, so long ago. She shoved the thought away. Not something she wanted to think about.

"Call Carina back and make sure she feeds him, too," continued Ellie. "And I mean 'feeds him', as in, 'tears stuff off and shoves it in his mouth while he types'. When he gets into one of these sessions he can get pretty hard on what he calls his 'thinking juice', and forget meaningless details like food." More than once she'd come into the kitchen to find her little brother leaning against the counter looking desperate, way back when. She put on a little boggle-eyed expression, rather than try to describe anything.

Sarah passed Clara back in order to make the call.

"Hey, baby girl," cooed Ellie. "Your Auntie Sarah's going to make sure your Uncle Chuck gets taken care of. I used to do that, too, but now it's your turn."

The two ladies smiled at each other, as Sarah pushed 'Call'. "And now it's _my_ turn."

* * *

Gertrude was enjoying a nice cigar when her phone rang. Her personal phone, not the office line. "Verbanski."

"It's me," said John Casey.

"Hello, Me," said Gertrude. "What perfect timing–"

"I need a favor," said John, before she could say something compromising, or worse, emotional.

"I'll scratch your needs if you'll scratch mine."

His grunt of distress carried over the phone. "Cut that out, Gertrude, there could be children present. In fact, that's what my favor's about, sort of. Chuck sent me to watch my daughter's six for a while."

Last she'd checked, the FBI had a lot of agents. "Because…?"

"Because I need an FBI agent to investigate the kidnapping of Agent Charles' mother, and she needs a partner that she can be sure won't stab her in the back."

Verbanski wasn't born yesterday. "They've got a mole? Whose?"

"Vivian Volkoff's," snarled Casey. Going after _his_ little girl. "We got one of her patsies last night, but where there's one there could be more."

Gertrude frowned. "I thought they were going after Agent Charles."

"So did everybody else, until it occurred to them to ask Agent Charles. He figured out the real target, and sent Manoosh to warn her, just in time."

That sounded like he'd gotten into trouble, and Manoosh was already in trouble. "How's his brain?"

"Bad," said Casey. "He almost died, but he took care of one assassin and Chuck's mother took care of the other, and got herself arrested for it. Except now she's not at the jail and there are no records she ever was. That's why I need you. As long as we're working the kidnapping, I may as well be in prison myself as far as my team's concerned. I need to know they've got someone in their corner."

"You want one of my teams?" Impossible, they were already spoken for.

"Nah, just you."

Just her. In the field again, with a gun. Oh, he knew her so well. Being a legend isn't everything it's cracked up to be. "I'll do it."

"It was just a suggestion," he said defensively.

"I said I'll do it, John, or weren't you listening." _Or are you just normally this hard to say 'Yes' to?_

"Sorry."

"On second thought, if Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver have turned you into the sort of person who apologizes for every little thing, maybe I should keep my distance."

Casey made a laugh-ish sound. "You do that. They could use a good sniper."

* * *

Carina picked up another crab cake from the box. Just because all Sarah said was 'feed him' didn't mean she had to feed him donuts and candy bars, especially when his best friend ran a restaurant and she got some of the goodies for herself. "Incoming."

"Ah!" said Chuck, his eyes aglow with joy, fingers buzzing on the keyboard. "Ha-ha! Thanks, buddy."

So she was a 'buddy' now, was she? She'd never been a buddy before. It felt strange, not a relationship she was used to having with a man. Or a woman, for that matter, until recently. Something else that was Chuck's fault. Carina smiled, understanding Morgan's envy, when he'd handed off the quote-supplies-unquote. She'd never seen Chuck so…giddy, yet so…focused. Like the Intersect but without the lab, and having a lot more fun doing it. Maybe she'd look up that movie Morgan mentioned after all, 'Stingray' or 'Sailfish' or whatever it was called.

"Love you," mumbled Chuck around his mouthful of food.

Carina had good reflexes. "I love you too, Chuck," she said as quickly as she could, before the usual barriers could come up. But he wasn't Davis, he was Chuck, Sarah's Chuck, and there was no need of a barrier with him. He was safe, so he was good practice. She could say something like that to him, where it was small, and mean it, so she did.

Naturally, the inner hatch opened at exactly the same time. Carina stiffened, and spoke a bit louder. "In a totally Platonic, non-sexual way, of course."

"Relax, Carina," said Sarah. "I'm not your boyfriend." She came over and kissed her husband on the forehead as he worked, just in case there was any doubt.

"Since when would that matter?" asked Gertrude, coming in right behind her, but not kissing anybody.

"Since you don't need to know," said Carina. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here because I'm going on this mission with you," said Gertrude. "You're aware that you're going to get yourselves killed without Casey?" She wiped her fingers on the tabletop, coming up spotless, just like at base.

_And therefore, without you. _"Oh is that right?"

"That's right. Since Casey's backing his daughter, he asked me to come and help out with this 'Decker' situation."

Carina liked the way she said that. "Decker's not a situation, he's a disease."

"Affirmative. People like him are the reason I started my company, so I would never be beholden to them again." She picked up the tablet with the data fragments that Decker had left with them, watching the symbols run down the screen as if any of it meant anything to her. "So have you managed to get anything from this yet?"

"It was written by Colin Davis, no relation," said Chuck, rattling off the information he had at high speed. "He was the former head programmer for a group known as the Collective, techno-terrorists who create viruses and sell them to the highest bidder. He vanished three months ago, taking the key to the Omen virus with him."

"Location?" asked Sarah. Why did his breath reek of seafood?

"Coming your way in 3, 2, 1…" He tapped a key, and the screen lit up. "Apparently he took the virus with him into this enclosed area."

"Looks like some sort of…separatist compound, maybe," said Carina.

"Or a militia," suggested Gertrude. "Looks to me like you'll need a sniper." Just like Casey said.

"Rifles right over the–" said Carina turning to point to the armory, and spotted Sarah noshing on a crab cake. "Hey! Those are for Chuck."

"I'm eating crab cakes for two," said Sarah. She met their distrustful gazes head-on. "Shut up."

* * *

Casey and Alex stood in the kitchen, watching through the windows as inmates served not-very-appetizing slop to other inmates. Somewhere in that room was the person they needed to see. A giant of a woman slapped another on the back, whispered in her ear, and left. "What about her?" asked Alex, pointing at Inmate B.

"No. Just muscle."

A much smaller woman, almost a girl, ran up, shoved herself into the line, and spoke to Inmate A. She listened only long enough to get her fruit cup, snatched up her tray, and stormed off in disgust. "Her?" asked Alex.

"Nah."

Young Inmate C spoke to Inmate D, giving her a bright smile and a hug.

"There," said Casey, pointing at Inmate C. "She's the shot-caller. I don't know what she's got but she's got something."

"That little bit?" said Alex dubiously. "You think she's in charge."

"Absolutely," said Casey. "The smaller, the smarter. Or the nastier. You've gotta be to survive in a place like this. Haven't you ever seen Caged Heat?"

"You're comparing a women's prison picture to this place?"

Casey grunted an affirmative. "The lesson's are the same. Those guys in Con Air wouldn't last five minutes in here."

* * *

The lock burned red hot before it melted. Chuck squirted some water on it to cool the metal before he removed the lock completely, and pushed the grate covering the storm drain's lower end to one side. He rolled out and turned left, while Carina followed and turned right, covering the approaches as Verbanski came out of the tube more slowly, her favorite sniper rifle on her back. She lifted the grate back into place and replaced the lock.

"_Alright, talk to me, people_," said Sarah from safely within the depths of Carmichael Industries. "_What do you see?"_

"Woods," said Chuck, turning on his camera. "The trail shows signs of frequent use, but we're clear for now."

"I hear something," said Carina, turning on her camera too. "Sounds like some kind of drill."

"_Gertrude, find a vantage point_," said Sarah, not that she needed to, but it really helped if someone not on site was reminding the people who were of the stuff they should know but might forget in the heat of the moment. "_Chuck, remember to stay behind Carina as you two make your approach._"

"Check."

"_Carina–_"

"I know, I know, jump in front of all the bullets."

"_No, try to make sure there aren't any,_" said Sarah. "_This is a snatch-and-grab, not a frontal assault._"

"But I like frontal..."

"_Not this time_," said Sarah firmly. "_Don't get cocky._"

"Not much chance of that," said Carina. "We're going after the wrong Davis." She fell silent, and gestured Chuck to follow her as she crept forward. The trail rounded a bend as it approached a clearing, allowing Chuck and Carina to observe the activities beyond, undetected.

* * *

The screens went dark at the same time. "Chuck?" said Sarah, checking the settings, trying to restore the feed. "Chuck, I can't see. Both of you have gone dark."

"_Kind of busy right now, Sarah_," said Chuck, his voice high and tense.

The background audio was full of rustling noises. "Too busy to give me a decent visual?"

"_Trust me, you don't want that. _I_ don't even want that_."

"_Hurry it up, Chuck_," came Carina's voice over the comm. "_Clothes off, chop-chop_."

Chuck said, in a tone of wonder, "_How did you do that so quickly?_"

If stripping were an Olympic sport…"What's going on?" said Sarah.

"_Don't stare at me, make with the naked_."

"Chuck, is Carina naked? You'd better not be staring," growled Sarah. Or getting naked. In the woods.

"_Above the neck, yes_," said her husband. "_I'm trying very hard not to look down. Wow that tan is just…so even. Oh, god, I looked down…_"

"_Oh, what's the matter, Chuckles_?" said Carina, sounding a little unhappy. "_Don't you like me, even a little bit._"

Carina's mood must not be the only thing that was down. "The truth hurts, doesn't it, Red?"

"_I like you just fine, Carina_," said Chuck. "_But Sarah is the only woman for me, and she's your best friend, and she's on our comms, and she's got a lot of other friends, some of whom are very proficient with sniper rifles…"_

"_Don't have to be a marksmen to hit _that," said Verbanski.

'That'? What 'that'? She better not be talking about that 'that'! "Gertrude…"

"_Just calling it like I see it, Sarah_."

"Well, don't see it." That's mine.

"_Too late_," said Carina.

"And speaking of 'late'–" said Sarah.

"_It's a nudist colony, Sarah_," said Gertrude. "_Or a nude cult, or a nude militia, but the important word is 'nude'. They have to strip if they're going to blend in._"

Chuck would never blend in, not in a place like that. Agent Charles could. "Chuck, you need to flash."

"_Too late_," said Carina, again. "_You need clothes for that."_

"Shut up, Carina. Now, Chuck."

"_Done, wife,_" said Agent Charles. "_I love you_."

Yes, you do, thought Sarah, and you will. She couldn't help imagining her husband as he must look at that moment. "There's no way they'll believe you're a nudist, Chuck. Let Carina take–"

"_Point?_" asked Carina.

Not with my husband you don't. "The lead," said Sarah firmly.

* * *

One mission gone sideways later, complete with semi-naked chases through the underbrush…

"I can't believe you let him just swallow it," said Gertrude, rolling over the unconscious hippie with a long stick. She reached down and pulled out the little tranq dart in his neck, careful not to touch him, even wearing gloves.

"Hey, in case you missed it, he is all naked under that robe," said Chuck, trying to pull the fabric of his own robe in several directions at once, mostly down.

"Oh, believe me," said Gertrude, flipping a small scrap of fabric down over the unconscious man's groin, "I noticed."

Someone or some_thing_ came crashing through the brush at high speed, and Chuck braced himself for an attack as Verbanski readied her rifle.

"Guys!" said Carina as she ran into the clearing, and they relaxed.

"Carina," said Chuck, looking…anywhere else. "You're naked. Again."

"Yeah, I know. That cult leader put up a good fight."

"As much of a fight as it took us to get you into that robe in the first place?" asked Gertrude.

Carina rolled her eyes. "Please. She wasn't that good. I saw tan lines, the faker."

"Here," said Chuck, undoing the knot in his belt. "Take my robe."

"_Chuck!_" said Sarah, and he jumped.

"On second thought, maybe I'll keep it on," he said, pulling the cloth every which way. "A bit breezy out here."

"That's the spirit, Chuck," said Carina. She walked over to the unconscious former cyber-terrorist and bent over, flipped open his robe. "Swallowed it, I'm guessing."

Gertrude smirked as Carina made her move, but whatever reaction she was hoping for, she didn't get. Chuck wasn't looking. A genius and a gentleman.

"_Some guess_," said Sarah. "_You literally have nowhere to hide a gun, or him a pendant_."

Gertrude slung her rifle across her back and armed herself with a pair of pistols, weapons more suitable for close-in work. "Let's go. You guys grab him and let's get him out of here. I'll cover you."

Carina snorted. "You wish."

* * *

**A/N2** Poor Carina. All those nudist cults, conspiring to strip her of her...dignity.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N **I was rewatching this section with the Hackoff in it, and I was wondering if Chuck was being deliberately obnoxious. As per my usual policy, I didn't try to rewrite a scene that I liked, so I pretty much left the Hackoff alone. That scene was mostly visual and musical anyway, so I looked elsewhere.

* * *

"_This makes no sense." _

"_I'll do it."_

"_I'm eating crab cakes for two."_

"_You wish."_

* * *

Gertrude drove, as Chuck and Carina dressed themselves in the relative privacy of the van. At least, Chuck was dressing himself.

"But I could have a tick!" said Carina.

"That is one of the possible side-effects of running naked through the woods, yes," said Chuck, turning his head to look at her but only because he had his T-shirt covering his face.

"Exactly," said Carina, displaying her still-naked body as if Chuck had somehow managed to overlook that major premise or her argument, an argument that didn't seem to be having much of an effect. "Come on, Chuck, I thought we were partners."

"I am not scanning your naked body for wildlife," said Chuck firmly. "Sarah's your partner, too." Nope, wait, he had dibs. "And Casey, for that matter. Go ask him."

"No," said Gertrude. "I mean, I don't think he'd take it well, and besides, he's off on his own mission. With his daughter." For a moment she seemed to think that settled the issue, but then she remembered who they were talking to. "And before you get around to asking _me_, we use chemical showers at Verbanski Corp., they don't make you smell too bad. Not for long, anyway. If you want, I'll write you a pass."

Carina wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She reluctantly started to pull on her clothes.

Chuck finished buttoning, able to look at her again, even in those…tiny…she looked more naked than when she was naked? How did that work? He coughed and looked away again. "Speaking of partners, why not have Davis do it?"

"The prisoner?" asked Gertrude. The unconscious, grimy, smelly prisoner.

"Ew," said Carina, shuddering. "No, my boyfriend."

_Oh, that's right, she's monogamous now._ "You have a boyfriend and you're throwing yourself at Agent Charles?"

"Of course," said Carina, with her usual smirk. "All Davis would do is say 'sure' and do it. Where's the fun in that? I like watching Chuck squirm." She whacked Chuck on the arm. "Not that you did. No fair throwing the Sarah bomb."

"_Would you rather he threw the 'Agent Charles' bomb?_" asked Sarah in all their comms.

Carina recoiled from her own ear. "Oh, God no."

Gertrude frowned at the reaction. Chuck and Agent Charles were the same person, so…"What's so bad about the Agent Charles bomb?"

Carina pulled her coat tighter, frowning. "He'd be like Davis, but without the sex."

"Or even the idea of sex," said Chuck quickly.

Carina nodded. "Yeah." At Gertrude's raised brow, she explained, "Most guys aren't able to look at or touch a naked woman–any naked woman, much less _moi_–without having some reaction. It's hard-wired in, they see naked women in cloud formations, for God's sake."

"I know how seduction training works, Agent Miller," said Gertrude.

"Okay, but Chuck's the only man I've ever met who can turn it off." She looked at him with an apology in her eyes. "It's creepy."

"_What about those NSA guys on the plane that time?_"

"They were different," said Carina, running a fine comb through her hair. Not a tick-remover but better than nothing, and it did the job for twigs and such. "I don't think theirs was ever turned on in the first place."

"If it makes you feel any better I don't like to do it either," said Chuck, staring at his hands. "Agent Charles is a useful persona, but he's very small, and cold. I don't like being cold."

* * *

If Alex had had any doubt about the young woman's influence in this place, it was gone between the time the prisoner walked through the door and when she settled in her chair. Either that or she was insanely self-confident, not that those two conditions couldn't both apply.

Normal protocols dictated that they observe from another room, while the prisoner's butt got sore in the hard metal chair. Let her back hurt from being forced to sit forward, her hands shackled to the ring in the table. Somehow Alex didn't think was going to do a whole lot to soften this one up. And they had no time to waste. "Let's go."

Casey followed her, as she led the way out of the booth and into the room. The prisoner looked at them curiously, perhaps a little surprised at the speed of their appearance. Alex sat, and Casey took up a position behind her, not subordinate but supportive. "Your name is Usha," said Alex.

She knew that already. "I've already got a date for the prom."

Casey's growl had barely started before Alex' raised finger shut it down again. She took out her wallet and handed it to the young woman. "I'm Special Agent Alex McHugh, of the FBI."

Usha scrutinized the credentials carefully, as Alex waited, with the same I-can-do-this-all-day expression on her face that the photographer had captured so well. She let the wallet flop back, and Alex took it from her. "That your dad?"

Alex kept her voice flat. "John Casey is a Marine Colonel, seconded to the NSA." Casey got out his own credentials but merely waved them in her general direction.

Usha's eyebrows climbed as the levels of official power in the room rose far above anything her petty crimes would have called for. "What do you want from me?"

Alex smiled, a gesture of respect, not humor. This girl knew which way the wind blew. Had to respect that. "We understand you're the woman to talk to."

Usha smiled back. These two must have done their own digging, no one told her about anyone sniffing around. Had to respect that. "You understand correctly."

Alex raised a hand, and Casey put a photo into it. "This woman is supposed to be here," said Alex, sliding the picture of Mary Bartowski across the table. "But the computers are lying to me. I need to know what they're lying to me about."

Usha picked up the picture. She looked across to Alex, her face youthful and stricken. "Is Mrs. Frost okay?"

* * *

Colin Davis paced in the cell at Carmichael Industries, under observation. "He looks nervous," said Gertrude.

"He looks like he doesn't want to sit in one of those metal chairs," said Carina. "For which I personally do not blame him."

"That's why I gave Sarah a towel," said Chuck. "I still think I should be the one to go talk to him, though."

"When it's not your mother in prison, go right ahead," said Gertrude. "If John were inside and I was in there with this jerk, he wouldn't _have_ any male bits to get cold in that chair."

On the screen, a shadow fell, and Davis turned toward the camera, which was mounted over the door. He started talking, and Chuck turned up the sound. "–making a terrible mistake!"

Sarah tossed the towel on the table in front of their guest, and he spread it on the chair before sitting. "We know," Sarah said sadly, "But we don't have much choice in the matter. Hostages have been taken, and your code is the ransom."

"This code could destroy everything! You'll put the world at risk to save a few lives?"

"We won't be giving them your code, Mr. Davis," said Sarah. "We'll be giving them a rope to hang themselves. They took my husband's mother."

Davis looked confused. "Who's your husband?"

"You met him, in the camp, but you probably know him better as the Piranha."

Davis leaned forward. "They kidnapped _the Piranha's mother_ to get my code?"

"That's about the size of it." Not that they seemed to know that. Their mistake.

"Wow." Davis looked pleased. "I've got game, don't I?"

Sarah launched herself across the table, looking not at all pleased, and Davis recoiled in surprise, and fear. Fear and surprise. "You've got two-thirds of a sex-change operation if you don't start spilling your guts!"

* * *

Chuck spat the jellybean he'd just put into his mouth across the room. "_Sarah!_"

"I'm in love," said Gertrude. "In a non-gay way, of course."

"Get in line," said Carina, completely understanding the sentiment. Ruthlessly efficient, and fanatically devoted. "That's my girl."

"I thought she was his girl," said Gertrude, pointing at Chuck.

"She's both, really," said Chuck. "She can do the whole good cop-bad cop thing all by herself."

"_My_ girl is Agent Walker," said Carina. "His girl is Sarah Charles, and he's welcome to her." She stole a jellybean just to show how welcome Chuck was to his own wife. "She scares me."

Verbanski had already faced off against Sarah, and knew what Carina meant. "Your girl, his girl, I don't care, one bit," she said. "But I just had a great idea."

* * *

Davis lay on the floor, whimpering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything I know."

Sarah went around the table and helped him off the floor, and they tried that whole 'sitting' thing again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that, but I love my husband, and I love his mother, so this whole thing is doubly stressful for me." She lowered her head and gave him one of _those looks_ with her blue eyes. "I hope you can understand."

"Oh, I do, I completely understand."

"We really are the good guys here."

"I see that," said Davis, nodding his head off. "I see that. How can I help?"

"Tell me about the virus," said Sarah. "If it's as destructive as you say, why would you ever make it?"

Davis shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, to start, it was my job. Not to mention that no one else could write metamorphic code, either, so there was that."

Sarah thought about Chuck, when he was in the zone. "The pride, the challenge," she murmured.

He heard that. "You don't realize what you're doing until you've done it, and even then I didn't think it would ever actually be used. I mean, who would destroy a world he lives on? It's stupid."

Lots of people would, in Sarah's experience. People do a lot of stupid things for hate's sake.

"And then one night I went to tell them I was code complete, and found out that someone else was building a delivery device–" he sketched a large rectangular shape in the air with his hands "–a modified USB drive, for my code, that they were keeping secret from me."

Sarah nodded.

"It stopped being just a game or a challenge, it was real! And that night I had a dream, like that nuclear dream sequence from Terminator, you know? And it was like I saw the future myself, a future_ I_ was making. I saw _my code_ destroy the world, and I knew I had to stop. I had to leave the delivery device behind, but I used my virus to erase myself and everything I'd done from the databases at the Collective, took my code, and ran."

"You just ran?"

He shrugged. "Sure. The security's top-notch, but it's easily manipulated from the inside."

"Why didn't you destroy the virus?"

He looked so sad, so conflicted. "I know I should have, but…it was my finest work."

"_Yeah, I hear you,_" whispered Chuck in Sarah's ear, not that he meant to.

"That cult, you know, with these silly robes and the nudity?" Colin tugged at his robe, and Sarah looked away, just in case. "That was my penance, man, my way to atone for what I'd done."

Her sculpted brow went up. "Surrounded by naked women?"

"We're celibate, with no computers."

"Atonement it is." Although a sledgehammer would have done more good, but there's only one way to prove that something's been destroyed. He would have needed to keep it intact until he needed that proof someday.

The door opened behind Sarah. "And we'll help," said Gertrude, entering the room with a bowl of jelly beans in her hand. She walked around the table, and said, "We'll get your virus, we'll get her mother-in-law, and we'll do what you couldn't. We'll destroy the damn thing, and you can go back to your cult and hug all the trees you want." She took a jellybean and put it in her mouth, then held out the bowl, smiling. "Jellybean? They're gourmet."

He missed civilization. "Thanks," he said, and took a few. So sweet, so chewy, so…weird-tasting. His stomach started to heave.

Gertrude reached for a trash can and spit her 'jellybean' into it. She looked at Sarah. "You did say you wanted him to spill his guts." She held out the can for Colin to puke into. "Just… speeding up the process."

* * *

"Chuck's not gonna be happy," said Casey, as they left the prison.

"Why not?" asked Alex. "We found evidence of his mother's abduction, and within the 48 hour limit. We've got a real chance here, thanks to Usha."

"Thanks to Frost," said Casey. "There's no one better at taking control of the bad guy and making them think it was their idea. That kid in there will do anything for Mommy Dearest. Hopefully she'll get her head together, go back to her job, and become a productive member of society, and not just another drain on our resources."

"Frost was here for less than a day, Dad," said Alex. "That might be a little much to ask for."

"You don't know Frost like we do. You listen to me, that girl will back at work by the end of the week."

"So what is there for Chuck to be unhappy about?"

* * *

"They drove her right past us?" said Chuck, staring at the camera footage. He saw himself on the phone, and as the gate opened and the van came out, he stepped to one side. "They kidnapped my mother and I got out of their way and let them do it!"

"Get over yourself, Bartowski, you didn't know," said Casey. He looked at Alex, and rolled his eyes. "How are things on your end?"

"We got the chip, but there's a snag," said Chuck. "According to the designer, there's a delivery device we need too, and that's hidden inside a fortress full of hackers."

"There's a threat."

"We're talking big, illegal money here, Casey, but the hackers aren't the ones calling the shots. I'm not worried about them, I'm worried about the army of people like you–temperament and weapons-skill-wise, at least–who are _around_ them."

"That's why I got an army of Verbanski, to be around you," said Casey. "Keep doing what you're doing, Decker's probably keeping tabs on you, so running around like you used to do is a good strategy for once. We'll tap Focus and, um…"

Had to be thinking about Manoosh. "Watchman," said Chuck, spur of the moment.

Heh. "Sounds about right. Anyway, we'll tap them for our heavy lifting."

* * *

Colin Davis got Carina and Gertrude to the ground floor, and he wasn't even there. His plans for the building revealed any number of design flaws, waiting to be exploited by trained agents in sensible shoes.

"_Chuck is lost to thermals_," said Sarah, tracking from the base. The building had no cooling towers to speak of, and the heat of the various servers and especially the room where the hackers were wasn't being properly bled off. People and machines were a big orange blob that her husband had just become a part of. "_Switching to signals._"

Neither of the two women responded, not that Sarah was expecting them to, but hanging from overhead pipes, waiting for the next roving patrol to pass under you, wasn't the place or time for conversation.

"_Uh-oh_," said Sarah. "_This Russian just put Chuck up against his best programmer. They're not even trying to test him._"

The two ladies, their legs wrapped around the necks of a roving patrol, made an unspoken but simultaneous decision to save time and simply kill these guys and move on. "Roger that, Telescope," said Archer. "We're at the door, just waiting for–" the light on the panel turned green "–well, there's your man now."

"_Speed it up_," said Sarah. "_He can only delay them so long_."

Verbanski shut off her mike as she shut the door. "Is she always like this?"

"It's the price we pay," said Carina, nodding slightly but no less alert. "You get used to it."

Gertrude turned the corner first. "Not sure I want to. This life is all I've known since I was sixteen. I don't know if I can do anything else."

"Don't think you have a choice." Two more guards found them, much to their regret. Gertrude put hers down in three moves, Carina only two. "Sarah needs us, me, to protect Chuck," she continued, as if nothing had happened. "Davis needs me to come home. It helps, you know?"

Verbanski pushed Carina behind her as a last guard joined his fellows on the floor. Two moves, this time. "Yeah," said Gertrude. "I know."

"If it helps," offered Carina, looking around, "I don't think Casey is the get-married-and-make-babies type." She saw something oddly rectangular on the wall, and touched her mike. "I think I have it, Sarah." She took a picture and sent it over.

"_Davis confirms_," said Sarah.

Carina took the chip out of her pocket and fitted it into the slot, closing the wings to hold it in place, and do God knows what else. "Omen complete. Heading to the evac point."

"_I'm signaling Graboid_."

* * *

"You seem to know your way around a computer," said the Russian in charge. "We expected nothing less.'

Chuck pulled the headphones off his ears, wondering what that was supposed to mean. "Excuse me?"

The Russian leaned in closer. "When my good friend Clyde Decker asked my help in obtaining the woman from that prison, I demanded the Omen virus to be returned to us as our payment." He pulled his gold-plated pistol from his belt. "We knew that the traitor Davis would send you here for the delivery device. You have played a good game, but you lose."

"Oh, my," said Chuck as the gun came to bear on him. "So I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that there's something you need to know?"

"And what would that be?" said the Russian, cocking the gun menacingly, because that's the only reason to cock a gun nowadays.

"The Piranha never loses." At the code phrase, the virus that Chuck had entered into the system while the other guy was moving a penny activated itself.

The Russian gaped. "The Piranha?"

All the lights went out.

"Freddy!" shouted the Russian. "Alarms! Lights!"

Freddy's fingers moved surely in the dark, and the lights returned. Chuck's seat was empty. "Find him," bellowed the Russian.

The hackers stood around as all the guards ran off. "Look," said one of them, pointing at Chuck's screen in wonder. "He hacked the Buy More."

"He what?" said Freddy, and leaned in for a better look at the profusion of mis-matched systems that had ended the career of more than one promising hacker. "Wow." He sat back, stunned, and the lights went on a second time. He tapped a bit at his keyboard, but no, they didn't go back on. Time to get a new job. "He really _was_ the Piranha."

* * *

"Guys!" shouted Chuck as he ran. "I'm in trouble! I'm coming!"

"Great," said Gertrude, loading her last magazine as bullets chewed on the door. "_He's_ in trouble."

"As long as he's on his way," said Carina, counting bullets in the glow of her phone. All the servers had gone silent and dark, and there was no other light in the room. Everything was exactly as Chuck told them it would be.

"_You're going to hit them with the CMI?" she'd asked, as he hacked the Buy More systems earlier that day._

"_Nope," he'd said. "That wouldn't last long against this group. I'm just going to leave myself a little Easter egg in the Buy More servers, something to put this Collective out of business for good."_

Gertrude must have forgotten that conversation. "Why, so we can all be in trouble together?"

The door stopped rattling. On the other side, something sounded like a game of bowling, played with live pins. "Not exactly," said Carina.

The panel beeped on the far side of the door, which swung open as the security system disengaged. Gertrude raised her weapon.

Agent Charles scanned her mildly, one hand directing her gun elsewhere. "Miss Verbanski." He glanced at the light, and reached down. "Archer. Time to go."

Carina took his hand and stood. Once she was up, Agent Charles turned to lead the way to the evac point. "You're right," said Gertrude, feeling catalogued. "Creepy."

* * *

**A/N2 **Usha was the name of the actress who played the female version of Lester at the Vail Buy More, in Chuck vs Bo. I don't like making up names out of whole cloth. Officer Davis was an exception, and he still doesn't have a first name. Hannah's husband also has no name. Hannah herself has no last name.

Something else I didn't like much about S5, was how the bad guys so often don't get caught. Roger Bale and the Collective were escaped from, not defeated. They had to call in Verbanski to capture Karl Sneijder. The Viper was only technically one of the good guys, and just a tool of Decker's, who was also killed by Verbanski. Even Quinn wasn't shot until after he'd destroyed something of greater value. Letting the Collective just go back to work after their little incursion didn't seem like something Agent Charles would settle for, especially after I tied them in to the kidnapping. Decker was mostly a comic villain, a caricature who simply liked to be evil, but I decided to let him show some real worth and pull one over on Chuck.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N **Is it my imagination, or are Chuck and Sarah especially moronic in this whole episode, and especially in this scene? Just handing the Omen over to Decker without getting anything more than a head nod from him was really stupid.

Also, I thought the lines between Sarah and Gertrude while looking for the delivery device in canon were far too rushed, so I can fix all of that now.

* * *

"_I don't like being cold." _

"_Get in line."_

"_They're not even trying to test him."_

"_The Piranha never loses."_

* * *

"There it is," said Casey.

Alex checked the plates on the van with her scope. "Confirmed. You've got good eyes, Colonel."

"Do you have to call me that?" asked Casey, pulling the car around a corner. "It's not like we have agents listening in."

Alex got out her phone to send off a quick text. "Do you have to call me 'Special Agent' all the time?"

"I like calling you 'Special Agent'," said Casey. Even if her promotion was a political ploy, she still deserved it. _About time those bureaucrats did something right._

She noted the nearest cross-street. "You realize it's just a giant target on my back, at the office."

Casey undid his seatbelt, and checked his load. "So? Stay out of the office."

"My boss said the same thing," she said, hitting the Send button. "That's why I'm out here with you, reporting in by IM, when I should be directing a team."

Casey opened his door. "You _are_ directing a team," he said as he got out. Slam. He waited for her to do likewise. "The same team that saved your ass the last time you got in trouble, the best team, because it isn't a team. We're family."

"I know. Dad."

Heh. "Better. Now let's go see about Grandma Bear."

They heard a door slam, and Alex crept up to the corner to see who was coming or going. "Lunch time," she reported. Casey grunted his approval. He preferred his enemies hungry and distracted.

They approached the building from the back, moving from one dumpster to another in the alley behind the row. They noted the movement of the cameras. Like a human sentry, taking them out was a last resort, so they snuck through the blind spots and Casey marked the building while she went to work on the lock.

"Coming back around."

"Working on it."

The door opened. With no time to spare they pulled it open and threw themselves into the darkness on the other side.

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski lifted up the remote control and turned the sound down on the room where their 'prisoner', Colin Davis, sat scratching at God knows what on his God knows where. "Not a word."

"Me either," said Sarah, coming into the room with some mugs. "Well, except for Rombauer. Nice to know it's not just me."

_Geeks and their jargon._ "Is that where Chuck went?"

Sarah put down their mugs, coffee for Gertrude and something experimental for herself. She just had to keep trying until she found something she could stand to drink, or until nine months had passed, well, seven at this point. Simple. "He had to restock, said he didn't have enough for two, and with Carina off getting inspected…"

Again? "I thought she did that already." How often does she run naked through the woods, anyway?

Sarah shrugged, settling into her chair. "It seems to be her new favorite thing, even more than the fingerprinting."

Gertrude shook her head, in confusion. Maybe her ears weren't hearing right today. "Finger painting?" Would coffee help? Well, it certainly couldn't _hurt_.

Sarah shook her head, negation this time. "Printing. Her boyfriend's VHP."

Gertrude sipped her coffee. Then she sipped again, and a third time. Definitely a coffee day. "And he took her prints?" What kind of a fetish is _that_?

_Mm-mm._ "Checked her for them, especially after missions, but I don't think he used powder." Since there hadn't been a powder shortage on the East Coast that she'd heard of.

_And she was offering me relationship advice. Unbelievable._ Gertrude groped for a new topic, any topic would do. "Chuck's really taking this thing with his mother calmly."

Sarah took another sip of her experimental non-coffee beverage, and made a face. "You just don't know Chuck. This is him panicking."

"Seems pretty effective for panic," said Gertrude, finally managing to sit.

"He wasn't always like this. Panic first, brilliant solution second." The second anyone else was in trouble. "Eventually he just learned to cut out the middle-man."

Verbanski looked at the screen, and Colin Davis, trying futilely to beat the lockout on Chuck's computer. "Once I used to know how to do that." _Or I thought I did_.

"What changed your mind?"

"What?"

Sarah looked at her funny. "You said you thought you did, and I'm wondering what changed your mind."

_God, what is wrong with me? _Saying what she really thought, especially while she was really thinking it, was something she'd beaten out of herself years ago. "Why would I tell you?" said Gertrude.

"No reason," said Sarah. "We aren't partners, but I like to think we're friends, and friends tell each other these things from time to time."

Out of her seat. Back turned, Gertrude stood somewhere else. Friends? When did that happen? Verbanski waited for the grunt, the growl, the threatening noise that always used to come out of her at times like this, but it didn't come. Where had it gone?

Sarah got up out of her chair and stood next to the same counter, sipping her…thing. Maybe she'd just try hot water next time.

"Fine," snapped Gertrude, turning back to the table and throwing herself into the chair. "I love John Casey," she told her coffee.

"I think we all knew that," said Sarah, coming back to sit, a little closer than before.

"Well _I_ didn't," said Gertrude. Crap, she spilled her coffee. "I had no idea I had such strong feelings for him. But ever since all this started, I've been a wreck."

All this _what_? Sarah moved over a stack of napkins. "You're handling it well. _Carina_ was a wreck. Needed a lot more help when it happened to her."

"She needs a lot of help _now_."

"You have no idea," Sarah said with a smile. "You were talking to the new and vastly improved version, in that hallway."

For a moment Gertrude was mortified, that she'd forgotten Sarah was listening in. At least it saved her the trouble of saying it all again. "It was easy when it was just me, you know," she said, cleaning up her mess. "But now I'm petrified this will go somewhere and I'm even more petrified it won't."

"I wouldn't worry." Sarah smiled. "That night at the Cerulean, when Casey bugged your coat, I was on the comm with him, telling him to get out, to stay on mission."

Verbanski's hand clenched on the napkin, squeezing all the coffee she'd just mopped up back onto the table. "Why would you do that?"

"He asked me to." She left out the part about _why_ Casey had asked her to. "But when we got down to it, he ignored everything I said."

Good. They'd had a marvelous time, demonstrating different knife techniques on the poor oysters, and then of course the range time after…"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that wherever 'it's' going, it's already gone, at least as far as you're concerned."

"Oh, God…" She was part of an _us_ now.

Not exactly the reaction Sarah was hoping for. "Maybe you're just looking at this the wrong way…"

"And what's the right way?" asked Gertrude. "Get married, have kids, give up the job because it's 'too dangerous'? Come on, Sarah, girls like us, we don't just leave."

Sarah looked down. "Um, well…"

Gertrude didn't notice, too busy smearing the spilled coffee around in an ever-widening circle. "I don't know about you, but like I told your partner, this is the only life I've ever known, since I was sixteen years old. I can't imagine myself doing anything else. Can you?"

"Actually…" Sarah remembered when she was sixteen years old. Already retired from the con game her father relentlessly played, trying to create a normal life in a normal school. Before her father got himself arrested, and before the government found a use for all the skills he'd taught her. Sixteen had been the apogee of that life, the one moment where anything seemed possible. Before it all came crashing down, and the life she thought she'd escaped sucked her back in. "I can, Gertrude."

Verbanski looked up at the strange tone of Sarah's voice, saw her sitting there, her hand tracing little circles on her belly, a look of utter calm on her face. She'd sometimes wondered what it must be like, to experience such calm, but her own center was too violent for that. Like John's. What a storm they could make, together. "Yes," she said with a little smile. "I guess you can."

* * *

The strident ring of Mr. Decker's cell phone cut through the symphonic strains of Vivaldi. Vivian turned the music down as Decker made haste to answer his phone for once. "Talk to me," he commanded.

Whoever obeyed that command must have been telling him good news, to judge by the arrogant grin. "Well, Mr. Decker?" asked Vivian, when the call ended.

"Our package is ready for pick up," he said, going to get his jacket. "In just a few hours, phase two will be complete, and the Triangulum will move on to phase three at last."

The eerie opening notes of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor sounded, and Decker looked pleased, rather than confused. "You're playing my song."

"I thought you'd approve," said Vivian with a smirk. _Troglodyte._

* * *

In the car, on the way to meet Decker...

"You know, I could have taken Mr. Davis back to his little cult just as easily as Sarah," said Carina.

"Apart from the fact that you beat up the High Priestess, and wholly aside from the problem of getting you out of there anytime soon–"

"Not to mention that her boyfriend's already 'inspected' her twice today," added Gertrude.

"Not to mention that _please_," said Chuck, "Decker's already seen you, and I don't want him seeing anyone else."

"He hasn't seen her," said Carina, hooking a thumb at Verbanski in the back seat.

"He knows her." Who didn't? "Having an independent contractor like Gertrude Verbanski along can only enhance our bargaining position," said Chuck.

Verbanski leaned forward. "Plus his wife would kick his ass if I didn't come, not after the way you two got kidnapped the last time."

"She would not!"

"Yes she would," said Carina.

Gertrude sat back. "She said she would, right to my face. You want to go back and argue the matter with her?"

Chuck virtuously, and obviously, focused on the road. "We're on a schedule."

"Uh-huh. Well, I said I'd be there, and I will, but don't expect me to say anything," said Gertrude, "'Cause I'm not going to."

"Not expecting you to," said Chuck, pulling into the parking garage. "Just having you there will be enough. Anything to spook Decker, throw him off his game."

Verbanski smiled. "That I can do."

* * *

If Chuck thought Decker's driver chose an obscure place to park their van, he kept it to himself, moving only stand straight. Carina did likewise, while Gertrude couldn't be bothered to change her indolent pose. Armed men sprouted from all the doors, except for the side sliding door. One man stood by that as Decker came forward. "You have it?"

Chuck patted his pants leg, where a large rectangular lump was clearly visible.

"Let's have it," said Decker, holding out a hand.

"Yeah, right," said Carina.

"This is a trade, Decker, not a surrender," said Chuck. "I want to see my mother."

Decker shook his head. "Sorry, Chuck, I can't do that, but perhaps you'd like to see what we have behind door number two."

The man standing there pulled open the side door, which slid aside to reveal Colonel Casey and Agent McHugh, wrists cuffed and chained to the body of the van. "I'll let you choose one of these instead, as a…consolation prize," said Decker.

Gertrude stood up straight.

"If you pick me I'll kill you myself, Charles, you hear me?" yelled Casey.

Decker frowned. "That simplifies things," he said, distastefully, but then he brightened. "On the other hand, my friend Thomas has such a soft spot in his heart for daughters. I should probably charge extra, for her. I really feel like I owe it to him, for all his loyal service."

"A brand-new and highly visible Special Agent, kidnapped in the middle of a case?" asked Carina. "I'm sure the FBI will take _that_ lying down."

Decker didn't seem all that pleased to have his bluff called. "Fine. Kick her out." The thug by the door leaned in and detached her cuffs from the chain securing them to the floor, all the while keeping an eye on the Colonel's feet. With the chain removed he grabbed the cuffs and pulled Alex out of the van. "Now," said Decker expectantly.

Chuck reached into his pocket and pulled out the device.

Decker snapped his fingers, and a lackey put a computer in Alex' hand, already booted up, displaying an on-board database. "Kill it," said Decker to Chuck.

Alex stepped forward, treading on Decker's toes as she walked past. "Oops." The tranqs, of course.

Chuck moved forward to meet her, and connected the device to one of the ports. He turned it to face Decker and pressed the Enter key. After a few seconds the screen flickered and died as every data store in the box was consumed, the shiny new laptop less useful than an abacus.

"Miss McHugh," said Decker, oozing condescension, "Be a dear and give that to me."

Alex turned and held it out to Decker. The second he closed his fingers on it Chuck pulled Alex backwards and stepped in front of her, while Carina took care of the cuffs.

"So _that's_ how she did it," murmured Gertrude.

Decker showed no interest in any of them, however. He unplugged the device and put it in his pocket, coming back with another drive, which he plugged into the port. He clicked a few keys, staring at Chuck over the screen.

"Well," he said at last, flipping the new paperweight to one of his subordinates, "It seems like your team _can_ do some good work, when properly motivated."

"What do you plan to do with that, Decker?"

Decker tried to project an air of innocence. "Do with what, Chuck? The Omen virus? Last I heard that horrible thing had been stolen by a group of terrorists, from a peaceful religious community."

"Terrorists?" said Chuck.

"Peaceful?" said Carina. Was he talking about the same religious community?

"The same terrorists recently penetrated a known cyber-terrorist organization, for the specific purpose of pirating a technologically advanced delivery system. Fortunately the hacker's security cameras got a good image of the thief. If, and more likely when, the Omen gets released, said pirate will be number one on the world's most wanted lists." Decker grinned at them. "Fortunately for the world's bloodlust, a few members of this fiend's crew are already in custody."

"I have a different scenario in mind," said Gertrude suddenly. She walked up and grabbed Decker by the lapels of his coat. "You let Casey go right now, and I'll let you live."

"Aw, Gertrude, I didn't know you cared. Too bad, but love has made you sloppy. Somebody has to be the first to die, and now you'll die right along with him."

Verbanski lifted Decker partly off the ground. "I think I can guarantee that he won't be the first to die."

"Go ahead," sneered Decker. "This is bigger than me, a plan already in motion. It's too late for you, it's too late for all of you. Killing me won't change that, but it will make you look even more guilty than you already will." He looked Gertrude in the eyes, and whispered, "This is the part where you run away."

Gertrude looked back at her group, and nodded her head. Chuck and the rest walked over to the doors, as Gertrude smoothed the lapels of Decker's jacket in faux-solicitude. "You won't win, Decker."

"I've already won, Gertrude. Now go, scurry away."

Verbanski turned and walked away. She opened the car door but turned before seating herself. "One thing, _Clyde_."

Decker snarled.

Gertrude held up the Omen delivery device. "You forgot something." Decker started checking his pocket. "But don't worry," continued Gertrude, "I've left _you_ a little consolation prize of your own." She pressed the button on her detonator just as Decker pulled the bomb from his pocket, the beeping getting faster and shriller.

Decker tossed the bomb into the van, where Casey was.

Verbanski pushed the abort just in time.

"Nice try, Gertrude," said Decker, pulling out his gun. He reached into the van, and someone, probably not Casey, handed him the deactivated explosive, and he tossed it away. "Now give me my virus, or your boyfriend dies."

"If he dies, you die." And Gertrude was pretty sure Decker didn't want to die.

"If I kill him, you'll kill me," said the arrogant little creep. "But if you kill me, my men will kill him. Seems like a standoff to me…except for the part about me killing you!"

Decker aimed his gun but before he could pull the trigger Alex shot it out of his hand! With a shout of pain Decker threw himself into the van, his men following, and it drove off, tires squealing. One of the henchmen let off a burst at their car, missing everyone but puncturing a tire. "Dammit," said Verbanski.

"Got it covered," said Chuck, and he pushed a button on the console. The tire sealed and reinflated, but not quickly enough.

Gertrude retrieved her bomb while Carina went and picked up the fallen gun. "Good shot," she said.

"I wasn't aiming," said Alex, breathing slightly hard.

"Keep that up, it works for you." Then Carina smiled. "At least you didn't puke this time." She handed the gun across the roof of the car to the woman who captured it, and Gertrude handed the Omen device across the roof of the car to the only man who could defeat it.

"This is deeper than we thought," said Chuck.

She left her hand rest on his for a moment. "Good thing you guys are the best."

* * *

Vivian Volkoff stood up and came around her desk when she heard the door of their suite open and close, with a great deal of cursing. "Mr. Decker?" When he didn't immediately appear she left her room, to find him and Thomas at a table, where Thomas was bandaging his master's hand. The curses weren't born, of pain, however, but of anger.

"Problems?" asked Vivian.

"That bitch tried to blow me up!" said Decker.

"Hmm, then I applaud her good judgment," said Vivian, idly wondering how a failed bomb would account for what appeared to be a broken hand. "I meant problems for our intentions, not your personal health crises."

"Everything went exactly as planned," said Decker. He opened a case to reveal the Omen device, safely padded. "They've got the fake. I wish I could see their faces, when they try to use it."

"If that ever happens, Mr. Decker, it will be because our own plans are in ruins, so let us hope it doesn't. The rest of it?" she asked, annoyed that she should have to ask.

"Agent McHugh is safely disposed of, Colonel Casey is on his way to join Frost at our black site."

"Footage?" she asked. Not that she didn't trust him, but mainly because she didn't trust him.

"Most of the cameras were disabled," said Decker, handing over a flash drive. "Nothing that would make good evidence, but you can catch most of it."

She took the drive, plugging it in to the nearest computer. The file wasn't of high quality, no sound, and off-angle, but she was able to see the majority of the confrontation. She noticed, as Decker apparently did not, when Agent McHugh rearmed herself. That explained the hand. She rewound that part a few times. When the van left the frame she paused the recording. "You baited the hook very effectively, Mr. Decker. But I have one question."

"Which is?"

Vivian tapped the screen. "Where is Agent Walker?"

* * *

**A/N2 **Decker standing there with his mouth open, as the bomb beeped faster, was one of the stupidest things in the whole series, not to mention the way the explosion didn't the leave the car dented, damaged, or covered with pieces. A very quick and dirty special effect. I'd love to know why they killed this plot.


	41. The Buddy System

**A/N **Chuck is remarkably obtuse and whiny in the Curse, isn't he? And what was the point of having Beckman use Morse code to tell them they had to run when she was already telling them they were going to be arrested? We all are aware by now that the CIA doesn't have any authority to act inside the borders, so I just made Agent Cunnings FBI rather than CIA.

On the other hand, Casey praising Morgan for his idea that Castle might be compromised was a nice touch, but it's hard to enjoy a show where the sidekicks are more heroic than the heroes. Well, Casey and Morgan aren't here, so the heroes will have to be heroic all on their own.

* * *

"_We're family__." _

"_You're playing my song."_

"_I have a different scenario in mind."_

"_Where is Agent Walker?"_

* * *

"Where _is_ Sarah, anyway?" said Chuck, pacing as best he could in the narrow confines of their underground base. With his legs that wasn't much, unless he opened a few doors and walked into some of the more personal spaces. Carina didn't mind that but he sure did. "She was supposed to be here an hour ago."

Carina sat at the table, the Omen delivery device in her hands. She had no idea what to do with it, but it was pretty to look at and who knew, maybe some of her famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) plan-hashing powers would leech into it by osmosis, or something. "She probably stopped off for a second breakfast," she said, throwing out the first soothing thought she came up with. "A sandwich, maybe a fruit cup. She's snacking for two, now."

"A rogue CIA agent is trying to frame us, me, for terrorist acts," said Chuck. "The world's greatest mercenary just tried to blow him up, for kidnapping her boyfriend." The mess _that_ would have made didn't bear thinking about, and the last thing they needed was her in jail or on the lam too. "Something pretty messed up and pretty personal to boot is going on here, and we need the team back together ASAP." _Not_ _out getting fruit cups_ being heavily implied.

"I know that, sweetie, but thanks for the quickie briefing," said Sarah from somewhere.

Chuck looked up. "Sarah?"

"Look out below," she said, and the grill from the overhead air duct dropped down. "Catch." A bag dropped out of the hole into Chuck's hands, and then the lady herself was slithering out of the tube, dropping to the floor with less than her usual grace. "Oops."

Chuck was there to steady her, of course. "And that's why you stay here in command central, where it's safe. I was beginning to think that maybe someone had caught you." Would it have been hypocritical of him to have asked Verbanski if he could borrow her explosives, for just a little while? Yes. Would he have done it anyway? Hopefully he'd never have to find out. He looked up, and reached up to close the grill. "What were you doing in the air duct?"

"Refusing to assume it was safe, husband," said Sarah, taking her bag. "Carina may be good at quickies too, but hers wasn't nearly as complete and satisfying as yours–"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Red," said Sarah, not sounding very sorry. She put the bag on the table. "But anyway, all things considered…" she put a hand on her stomach "…I decided to be overly cautious, even if this _is_ our own secret base."

"I approve," said Chuck, putting his hand over hers.

Sarah hooked a thumb at Carina. "_She_ said it was a mysterious CIA plot to kill everyone, you, me, maybe even her, although that last bit was probably just her ego talking–"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Carina," said Sarah, still not sounding sorry. "Anyway, this place _could_ have been compromised."

"That's a good thought," said Chuck.

"And besides, when am I likely to get a chance to go crawling around through ductwork again?"

Eight months, at least. "Sorry," said Chuck. "My fault."

Sarah pulled him in for a kiss. "Ours. But if you call what we did a fault I'll have to go all Giant Blonde She-Male on your ass, and I don't even know what that means."

Neither did Chuck, but he paled anyway. "I'm sure you'd come up with something."

"Damn straight. But anyway, I figured I should take what I could get on the spy front." She reached out to her bag, pushing it along the table top. "Didn't expect this thing to be as much of a problem as it was, though."

Chuck took a closer look at the bag. "You swung by the restaurant?"

"Of course," said Sarah. "Where else would I get a stash of high-quality munchies for those long hours alone here in our new Castle, the crab cakes and the mushroom caps, and those chicken things with the homemade dipping sauce…? Did I just say what I was thinking out loud?"

Carina stood up, peeking into the bag. "Nothing in there for _us_, huh?"

Yeah, she'd said it out loud. "I don't think so," said Sarah. "Alex called Morgan, told him what had happened. When I stopped off to get something he shoved all this in my hands and made me promise to use his powers only for good. I think he meant for the baby, but–"

"It's hard to tell, with Morgan," said Chuck.

"He might have meant a party," said Carina, taking another peek.

"Carina," said Chuck, and she pulled her back as if slapped. "There's not enough there for three."

It should have been four. Sarah looked around. "Where's Verbanski?"

"Right here," said Gertrude, standing in the entrance to the short hallway.

"Where were you?"

"Casey's room. I'd still be there but all I ran out of weapons to clean. He'd want them taken care of." She shook her head. "Does want them taken care of. He's not dead, and neither am I." She looked at them all. "Decker is, he just doesn't know it."

The screen lit up, with General Beckman's face on the monitor, her hands braced against the desk, face scowling in disapproval. "You might want to rethink that plan, Miss Verbanski. We disapprove of murder in the United States. Officially."

Verbanski tried to look apologetic. "I understand, General."

"I'm glad you do." She turned her gaze on Sarah and her expression softened considerably. "Good evening, Sarah, I'm glad to see you, but you really should be at home, resting." Beckman clasped her hands together, the fingers of her right hand on top, only the thumb and pinkie finger of her left hand showing. "However, I would recommend the rest of you remain exactly where you are for now. The DoD is preparing to drop all charges. It would be a shame to make it harder to find you than it already is."

Chuck nodded. "We understand, General."

"I'm not sure you do, Chuck," said the General, her fingers flexing a subtle 1-2-1-2 on the back of her hand as she spoke. "Far from arresting you, throwing you in a hole, and losing the keys, they want to express their profound gratitude that your team has saved them from their own short-sightedness. Well done. I'll see you soon." She tapped a key on her board and the screen went black.

"Maybe you guys can sit tight here, but I have a business to run," said Gertrude. Whatever they were going to get praised for, it had nothing to do with her, otherwise she'd have told them to bring cash instead.

Chuck and Carina exploded into motion. Carina went to the armory, such as it was, and gathered all the weapons into duffels. Chuck went to the computers and initiated code wipes and lockouts of his own devising.

Sarah turned to Gertrude. "They're bugging out, and I'd advise you to go with them. If you go anywhere near Verbanski Corp. you'll probably be arrested." She opened her bag of food and started parceling out the contents.

"What?" said Gertrude. "But you heard the General…"

"Yes, we did," said Carina, hauling the first duffel to the door. "And we saw her fingers, tapping out a nice Condition Green, too."

"Isn't that good?"

"It would be," said Chuck, transferring his stolen funds to other secret accounts. Everybody already had access cards for those. They'll be needing that money now. "If her other hand hadn't been making the sign of reversal at the same time."

That sounded like some kids' game. "Reversal?"

"Condition Red, not green," said Chuck, getting up and taking the last duffel, as Carina took her bag of food. "Arresting us and throwing us in a hole is exactly what they want to do."

"So don't stay where you are," finished Gertrude. Sounded like a good code, for a spy. Subtle and treacherous. As a military commander, she was rather more…direct.

Chuck hefted his duffel, and snagged his provisions. "Not planning to."

"Where are you planning to go?" asked Sarah.

"Dad's cabin," said Chuck, after a glance at Verbanski. "I'll see if I can use his supercomputer to hack into the CIA and anywhere else I have to go, to find out who's out to get us and why."

Having been let in on the secret, Gertrude noticed his fingers, the way he held his bag. Wherever he was going, it wasn't there. Which was good operational security, the less she knew, the less she could tell if she were captured. She turned toward her pregnant friend. "Aren't you going with them?"

"No, I'm going home," said Sarah. "Whatever the charges against you are, they don't apply to me." She pulled up the remote and replayed the short interview, pointing out the way Beckman's body language revealed her real meaning. "You see, I'm not a fugitive."

"But I am," said Gertrude. _The things I do for you, John._

"Only until we can figure out who's hunting us, and why," said Chuck. No, not Chuck. Agent Charles.

"Where will _you_ go?" asked Sarah.

"Me?" said Gertrude. "I'm going to do what any smart commander does when he's outmanned and outgunned. Find myself a few allies." True and vague, a nice combination. Verbanski smiled at Agent Charles, and he smiled back. Not creepy at all. "And then we hunt them."

* * *

His monitor chimed, and he looked up from his tinkering in surprise. Who would be trying to contact him at this hour? He pressed the button and his screen lit with his second-favorite face. "Hey Hannah, what are you doing still here?"

"Manoosh," she said, looking unhappy, "This conversation is being recorded. I just got off the phone with General Beckman. I have been ordered to inform you that we are under no circumstances to provide material aid or assistance to Agent Charles Charles, Agent Carina Miller, or Gertrude Verbanski of Verbanski Corp." Their pictures went up, in case he'd forgotten what any of them looked like. "We must report all contacts with them, should there be any. Is this understood?"

The words, yeah. "What? Why? What's going on?"

"Is this understood? Say yes or no."

He understood them enough to know that they made no sense whatsoever. "Okay, uh, yes, I guess."

"Thank you." The monitor went dark.

What the hell was going on?

His phone rang, the one that didn't have a monitor attached. "Hello?"

"Manoosh," said Hannah, "God, I hated having to do that."

He hated having to hear it. "What happened?"

"I don't know," said Hannah. "I guess we were both left out of the loop on this one."

"Must have been pretty dangerous. So what do we do?" Because of course they would have to do something. Aunt Diane would expect it, even if The General couldn't ask.

"I tried calling Sarah already," said Hannah. "No luck." Probably went with Chuck, which would be stupid. She has no business going into danger like that. Ellie would plotz! "Maybe we should call Ellie?"

"I think she's out with the frat boy hubby," said Manoosh. "You can try her, though. I'll try to get a hold of Orion."

* * *

The gate was open, but that didn't mean she could just walk in. One guard stood in the gap, another waited safely in the booth, to sound the alarm if she turned out to be more threat than she seemed. Which was almost always the case, but for now she reined it in.

When the outside guard told her to "Halt", she halted, knowing they were scanning her for weapons. Which she had in plenty, just not the sort to appear in a scan.

When he instructed her to "State your business" she complied. She pulled a message, written on paper, out of her pocket. _Scan this._ "I have new instructions from Gertrude Verbanski."

The outer guard stepped forward and took the paper from her fingers, stepping back to let the inner guard perform the verification. "it's clean."

The outer guard waited until the sound of unfolding paper stopped. "What does it say?"

"It says to let her in, and take her to the watch commander."

* * *

"I don't know which I believe less, that your father has his own supercomputer, or that he has a cabin," said Carina as she drove. "Actually, I'd believe the supercomputer first. He really didn't strike me as the 'mountain man' type. Except the hair."

Chuck tried to remember his father with short hair. "I think that came after Mom left, maybe that's why Ellie's always after me to get a haircut. Anyway, between the real government agents and the fake ones constantly chasing after him, he sorta had no choice, you know."

Sometimes she wondered why they thought he was such a genius. "I do now."

That got a laugh out of her passenger. "True. Yeah, sorry about all this. Well, if it helps, I don't see this one lasting twenty years."

That's good. Davis had something he wanted to talk to her about and she'd had to put him off once already. "You don't? Is there even a real cabin?"

"Yes, but it's in California," said Chuck. "I'd have to call Ellie, and you don't see me doing that, do you?"

"We can't," said Carina. "Don't want to implicate her."

Right. Couldn't do that. "You don't see me whining about _not_ calling Ellie, do you?" said Chuck. "We beat Fulcrum, didn't we? The Ring? Volkoff? Okay, maybe we're only fifty percent on Volkoff but on Alexei we're a solid hundred. Those guys were world-class villains. You think I'm going to worry about a guy like Decker?" He opened his bag of food to see what miracles Morgan had wrought for them.

"You know, when you put it that way it sounds kinda dumb."

"Yup." He selected a mushroom cap. "Incoming."

She opened her mouth but it wasn't her style to wait, and she didn't. She didn't bite his fingers, either, but it was a near thing. "Thanks, buddy," she mumbled around her food.

That got another laugh. "You're welcome, buddy."

"Love you," she said in a very small voice. So much harder to say when she wasn't saying it _back_.

"And I love you, too," said Chuck. "We all do."

* * *

The phone on the base commandant's desk buzzed. He glanced at the display. "What is it, sergeant?"

"A boatload of government types with a warrant, sir," said the gate guard. "Said they want to see Miss Verbanski and they want to see her now."

Just what he needed. "Is the warrant valid?"

"Legal says it is, sir."

"Very well, then, send them up and they can have it out with the lady in charge."

"Sir?"

"Send them up, sergeant." He broke the connection and looked over at his guest. "Why do I get the feeling that you're just in the nick of time?"

She stood, and gathered her things. "Because I am. Where would be the best place to meet with these 'government types'?"

He snorted. "With that piece of paper in your hand, you can meet with them in the men's bathroom, if you had a mind to. I wouldn't recommend it, though."

"Doesn't sound very official," she said, with a smile. "And something tells me I'll need to look as official as possible."

He shrugged. "You have the card, and the code, right?"

"I do."

He nodded, and stood. "The office, then."

The card unlocked the door, and the code disabled the alarm. The commander escorted his guest inside and offered to take her coat, like a good subordinate. As he hung it up they heard the elevator _ding_, and the sound of many feet moving quickly across the floor. Someone knocked peremptorily on the door, and she settled herself behind the desk before nodding at him to open it.

Numerous men streamed into the room, fanning out cover the area. "Tread lightly, gentlemen," she called out in warning, but they ignored her, at their cost. In seconds the entire squad had fallen to the floor, their shoes caught by the peculiar qualities of the carpet.

A woman strode into the room, her heels tapping steadily tok-tok-tok on the wood of the upper level. She looked upon her outriders, getting to their collective feet, dispassionately. "Your floor is treacherous."

"Only to our enemies," said the woman behind the desk, her voice faintly accented. "To our allies and our friends, it is less so. Which are you?"

The woman walked into the room, stepping slowly and carefully across the floor. She pulled out a badge. "Robyn Cunnings, Special Agent, FBI. I'm looking for Miss Gertrude Verbanski. We have a warrant for her arrest. Do you know where she is?"

"Nyet," said the woman behind the desk. "Arrest for what?"

"We can start with assault and work our way up," said Agent Cunnings, "Or we can start with kidnapping and work our way down."

"Gertrude Verbanski is not criminal."

Agent Cunnings looked to one of her men, who shook his head. "And yet she's not here."

The commandant cleared his throat. "Miss Verbanski is taking an extended sabbatical. She does that, from time to time, to keep her skills fresh."

The blonde behind the desk added, "She will return when she returns. Until then, I am in charge."

"And when she does return," said Agent Cunnings, putting a card on the desk, "Or if she contacts you in any way, you will inform us immediately. Otherwise you will be aiding and abetting a fugitive. Do you understand?"

"Da," said the woman, making no move to take the card.

"Good," said the Agent, with a slight, vaguely sinister smile. "Then enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss…?"

The woman behind the desk stood and smiled. Her evening was just getting started. "Bartowskaia," she said, using the Russian female version of her last name, because why make it easy for them. "Sarah Bartowskaia."

* * *

**A/N2 **Not exactly where the episode ended this section. I'm creating the whole Decker conspiracy as I go, so things are going to be a bit different. Meaning I have an idea where I'm trying to go and no idea how I'm actually going to get there. I hope it works.

I tried to find genuine hand symbols for reversal of meaning, but I couldn't really find any, so I made one up. Making Agent Cunnings FBI also helps explain how she doesn't know Sarah on sight.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N **This is what happens when I stick to the model of the episodes a little too closely. In S5 Manoosh, Hannah, and Orion had no parts, so I forgot to keep them in the loop here, even though Hannah knew about Frost's evidence problem several chapters back. If you didn't notice that lapse, just ignore this note.

* * *

"_Where _is_ Sarah?" _

"_Condition Red, not green."_

"_I do now."_

"_I am in charge."_

* * *

One quick recalibration of the Intersect room to send out Orion-shaped flares later…

I'M HERE, MANOOSH

_Thank God. Someone's after the team._

CHUCK? ELLIE?

Figured. _Chuck yes, Ellie no. Carina and Miss Verbanski, too._ Okay, so not exactly the whole team.

_Orion?_

WHY JUST THEM?

_Don't know. We were told to cut them off, and turn them in._

FOR WHAT?

_No idea. After Frost got arrested and all the evidence disappeared, they forgot to keep us in the loop._

_Orion?_

AFTER WHAT?

* * *

At a restaurant, not Morgan's…

"Here's to us, babe," said Devon, lifting his newly-poured glass of wine. "Especially to you. You look so beautiful. It's awesome that you're my wife." He swirled the wine in his glass. "I ordered this bottle of 2000 Sangiovese to celebrate you, celebrate us. Surprise."

"Sangiovese," said Ellie, touching her glass to his. "We had that at our wedding."

"Special night, special wine," said Devon. "Special lady." They drank together.

Ellie blushed, or maybe that was the wine. It was awesome that he was her husband, too, but somehow he just seemed to be able to say stuff like that more easily. "Thank you, honey, but this time I have to admit I had a little help." She stroked the shoulder of her glittering, dark blue dress. "I borrowed this from Sarah. She said she wore it in a mission in Bulgaria." Her eyes widened in apparent excitement.

Devon appreciated that dress a little more. It had gone farther than he ever had, been part of something awesome, he was sure (this was Sarah, after all), and come back to wrap itself around the woman he adored. "A little mystery looks good on you," said Devon. "The perfume of adventure…"

"No thank you, Devon," said Ellie quickly. "I have tasted some of that life and it is not for me." A memory of a muddy Thai river came to mind and she ruthlessly shoved it down again. "I've got you, and Clara, and my research. What more could I need, or want?"

Devon saw the frown on her face, and immediately regretted his words. She'd told him about the things she'd had to do to protect her brother, and there was no romance in any of it. "I was so glad you could be there for Chuck, babe, but I'm even more glad that you're here for me. Here's to wine and family."

She'd drink to that, gladly. "Spying may be in our blood, Devon," said Ellie, remembering her father's words from when he sent her brother off searching the world for their mother, "But that's from my mother's side of the family. It looks to me like maybe I take after my dad."

She said to her wine, "At least I hope so," before swallowing it all down.

* * *

MANOOSH?

_Yes?_

I'M AFRAID I'M GOING TO NEED SOME FIELDWORK DONE.

_By who?_

YOU.

MANOOSH?

_Ellie would kill me._

I DON'T SEE WHY. IF YOU SURVIVE THEN THAT SHOULD PROVE YOU DON'T DESERVE IT. IF YOU DON'T, THEN IT WOULD BE TOO LATE.

_That's_

_not very comforting_

BEST I CAN DO.

_What kind of fieldwork?_

I WENT OVER THE CASE FILES YOU SENT AND THERE'S ONE FACILITY I CAN'T GET INTO. IT BELONGS TO A MAN NAMED BALE.

_I remember that place. Casey shot up all the servers._

TYPICAL.

IT SOUNDS LIKE A LIKELY CANDIDATE FOR MY SON TO GO TO GROUND, IT FITS HIS MO AS BOTH A SPY AND A HACKER, BUT EVEN IF IT ISN'T I NEED SOMEONE TO GO AND CHECK IT PERSONALLY. ASSESS THE CONDITION OF THE SERVERS, GIVE ME ACCESS IF YOU CAN OR RETRIEVE THE CORES.

Tech work. _I'm on it._

GOOD LUCK, SON.

_Thanks._ Dad.

* * *

In an unknown location, not Orion's cabin, where Chuck and Carina have gone to ground…

"I don't know, Carina," said Chuck. "I feel like I'm becoming my father."

Carina looked away from the window for a second. Sitting in a chair, typing in a computer. Right. "You're taller than him."

"In cyberspace, everyone's the same height."

"Funny, I used to say the same thing about lying in bed," said Carina. If she'd only gone to bed with men as tall as her she'd have gone to bed lonely a lot of the time. She looked him over. "Let's see, we've already done the hair. He married a brunette, you married a blonde. I don't know, Chuck. Aside from the whole 'married a spy, had babies, and went on the run from shadowy government organizations' thing, I'm just not seeing it."

"You're really not big on the scientific method, are you?"

Not after that time in Chem Lab, no. "I like experimentation…"

"I'm sure you do, but it's the statistics that matter," said Chuck with a smile. "Two cases isn't exactly a significant sample population."

"They could be, if they were the right two," said Carina. "You and Sarah are a significant sample population for the 'made for each other' category."

That got a number one-and-a-half smile out of him. His gaze got all distant, and his hands stilled on the keyboard. "Yeah, we are, aren't we?"

Carina whacked him in the head. "Type, hacker-boy.'

Chuck's fingers jerked into motion. "Exactly! Hacking. I'm really good at that, we both are. My dad and me, I mean. The spy game really messed up our lives–"

She put a hand over his mouth, so he'd stop saying stupid things. "It gave him Mary, and it brought one of the world's most beautiful women to your side." Carina hip-checked him slightly. "And Sarah, let's not forget her. It kept Casey out of an early grave, and God knows where _I'd_ be right now." No place she wanted to think about. "Or Manoosh, or Hannah…"

He hunkered down further and further over his keyboard with every name she threw on his side of the ledger. "Point made, point made." He was silent for a second. "Just so you know, you and Casey are definitely worth it."

Suddenly Carina felt a huge weight settle onto her own shoulders. She staggered, would have fallen, except that her hand came down on Chuck's shoulder, steadying her in more ways than one. "Yeah, um, well, the sooner we find Casey the sooner we can tell him that."

"Working on it." The computer beeped. "And we're in! Now let's see who Decker's working for…"

* * *

A large man loomed up out of the chaos of the restaurant to stand by their table. "Mr. and Mrs. Woodcombe?"

Ellie looked up, expecting a waiter, somewhat surprised to see a man in a black suit. Something about the way he was just suddenly there was familiar to her. "I know you, don't I?"

He nodded, as Devon snapped his fingers. "From the airport."

"Yes, sir. You knew me as Mr. Smith then, but my real name is Simms." He flipped out his credentials. "I've been instructed by the General to take you to her location."

"We're having dinner," said Devon, valiantly trying to salvage their romantic outing.

Simms tried his best to look sorry. "Something has come up, sir, and I have my orders."

"This is a thing?"

"Yes, sir. We're calling it 'Project Eagle'."

_They love their code names, don't they? _Ellie rolled her eyes, took her phone out of her bag and turned it back on. "You'll pardon me if I don't just take your word for it?"

Simms nodded approvingly. "I'd be very disappointed if you didn't, ma'am. When you're ready, I have a limo waiting right out front."

* * *

"That's weird."

"I don't see any open cases," said Carina.

"That's what's weird," said Chuck. "Clyde Decker's a Special Agent, he should be in charge of _some_thing."

"Is there a 'creepy cases' file?"

"That's the NSA," said Chuck, checking the folder tree.

"That's the NSA personnel roster," amended Carina. She'd never forgive them for not ogling her when she gave them the chance. "At the CIA it should be genuine cases, but you're right, I don't see one."

"So where is he, and what's he doing?"

Carina was about to add _And who's he doing it to?_ but she sort of knew the answer to that question, and knew that Chuck wouldn't need to be, or appreciate being, reminded. "I'd say check his email, but he'd have to be pretty stupid to use a company account for off-the-books work."

"Or arrogant," said Chuck, pulling up Decker's email account anyway. He ran a few searches on likely keywords but came up empty. "Not as stupid or arrogant as either of us hoped," he said, disappointed, but then he brightened a bit. "While I'm here, I'm going to set up an auto-forward on his inbox."

Just then the screen changed. "Or you could read whatever that is right now," said Carina.

Chuck opened the message. "It's an automatic alert," he said. "They've targeted the Piranha!"

"Chuck, you're the Piranha."

"Yes, thank you, I know that," said Chuck, turning to look out the window. "And now, apparently so do they."

* * *

At a dingy hole-in-the-wall bar outside of anywhere, after hours…

"Yes, Ellie," said General Beckman. "There is a conspiracy, trying to destroy Chuck and all his team. They've already taken Agent Frost and Colonel Casey, and they've arranged for apparently genuine arrest warrants to be issued for Chuck, Carina, and Gertrude Verbanski."

Seated on the other side of the table, Gertrude lifted the bottle and saluted the General before taking a healthy swig.

"I leave it to you to imagine what would become of them, were they to be taken into custody," finished Beckman. "Go with Simms. He'll bring you to me, and we can plan our response. I'll see you soon." She ended the call, and glared at Verbanski. "Save some for me."

* * *

Decker's phone buzzed, so he pulled it out to check. "About time."

"What's about time?" said Vivian, packing away her work-related materials while Carmichael took care of her other things. In spite of her every earnest effort not to, she'd become rather spread out.

"We finally got a hit on that cheese I left for the Piranha to find," said Decker, switching apps. "It looks like he's finally making his move."

"About time," said Vivian. "You're going to send Mr. Delgado?" she asked as Decker raised his phone to his ear.

"'Painful and lingering' were your exact words, Miss Volkoff," said Decker.

They were. Then. "Is there time for that?" Now?

"Painful, always," said Decker with a smile. "Lingering, I'm afraid not. But there are some injuries he could inflict–"

Vivian walked away from her computer, to make sure she didn't break anything. "This man stole _forty million dollars_ from me, Mr. Decker. I expect more for that money than a mere promise of unheard shrieks in an abandoned warehouse. Bring him along."

"You want us to put the Piranha with Frost and Casey?"

"They are all contained appropriately, are they not?" She didn't wait for his affirmative grunt. "The Piranha will be harmless without a computer. By all means let them become friends, before Thomas plies his trade."

* * *

Chuck put the last computer back on the shelf. "Anything?"

Carina came back from the front window, her steps silent on the tile. "No one there. You think they made a mistake?"

"Against the Piranha, quite possibly," said Chuck. "Except I wasn't the Piranha tonight, and this is the sort of place I would go if I was him. Safest to move anyway."

Carina gestured at the Home Theater room. "You check on the girl?"

"You mean Usha?" said Chuck, in subtle rebuke. She had a name. "She's sleeping the sleep of the recently tranqued. She'll never know we were here." Just like he'd never know why she was there, but Buy More employees crashed in the HT room for all sorts of reasons, as he well knew. His phone chimed with a new message, and he reached into his pocket.

"What?" said Carina, after he stared at the screen for a few seconds.

"Open Table, reminding me to leave a review after my dinner tonight?"

"You had dinner?" asked Carina. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Not me," said Chuck, looking at her with sudden comprehension, with a touch of horror. "Ellie!"

* * *

Agent Simms handed Ellie and Devon into the back of the limo just like any chauffeur would do, closing the door.

Devon looked around the luxurious interior like an excited child, the doodads, the electronics controlling God knows what, the open bar, until he saw Ellie's face. The bottle went back on the shelf without a second glance. "I'm so sorry, babe," he said, taking her hand. "I know this isn't the life you want."

"It's not your fault, Devon," said Ellie as the car settled slightly, Agent Simms getting into the driver's seat. She stopped talking. Something felt…off.

The locks on both doors engaged. The car swerved into traffic at high speed, throwing Ellie and Devon into the cushions. "What the hell?" said Devon.

"Agent Simms?" said Ellie.

A skinny man, his head entirely hairless, looked through the partition with cold eyes. "Agent Simms was given the rest of his life off, Mrs. Bartowski. I am your driver tonight." The partition slid up, sealing them in.

* * *

On the way to the restaurant…

Chuck's phone went off. "Agent Charles," said General Beckman, "Bad news. I just got a call from Ellie. The driver I sent for her has apparently been waylaid. She and Devon are trapped in the limo now."

Chuck saw lots of flashing lights up ahead, more police than medical services. "I think it's a safe bet that your guy is dead, General." Their car swerved violently as Carina managed to avoid the vehicular chaos ahead. "Does the limo have a tracker?"

"It does," said the General, but she lost a few precious seconds getting the transponder code.

"Send it to my father," said Chuck. "If he can find the car and make it stop, or even slow down, Carina and I will take care of the rest."

* * *

Ellie's phone rang. "Ellie!" said Hannah when she answered it, "Where are you? I've been trying to call you all night. Someone's after your brother…"

"We know," said Ellie. "They've got us trapped in a limo, taking us God knows where…"

"Ellie," said Hannah, her voice low and fierce. "Don't worry, my dogs and I will find you. Just leave your phone on, and make sure they can't take it away from you. We'll do the rest."

"Okay," said Ellie, not sure what use Hannah and her pets would be but glad for the support, and the idea. Rather than put her phone back in her bag she slid it into the top of her stocking. Too loose. "Devon, give me your tie."

* * *

Chuck's phone rang, as he tried to get a hack going on his laptop, just in case his father couldn't. "Yes, General?"

"Agent Charles, Orion has located the car, but he's in the middle of another operation." And didn't she just sound so thrilled about that. "He's sending the coordinates now, and he said he'll try to snarl the traffic lights until you get there, but he made no promises."

Just then their GPS lit with a map, complete with directions for the fastest intercept course. "We're on it, General."

* * *

"So what's the plan, babe?"

"You heard that guy, Devon," said Ellie, indicating the driver's compartment. "He called me Mrs. Bartowski. They're not after us at all, and I'm not going to let us be used against my brother when they find out their mistake."

Devon took a deep breath. "We have to get out of this car."

"I know."

"We have to dive out."

"I–what?"

"Simple, babe," he said, trying to convince one or both of them with the awesomeness of his plan. "We wait until he slows, open the doors, and dive out. You can do a combat roll, it's easy."

"Easy for you to say, Mister I-have-pants-on," said Ellie. "This is not what I had in mind when I thought about going commando tonight."

Devon's eyes went wide. "Babe?" His head turned towards her, his eyes looked down.

"No peeking!" she shrieked.

"Your legs," said Devon. So long, so smooth. Just stockings on. "Take my jacket." He struggled out of his coat and handed it over.

"Thanks, honey." She tied the arms around her waist and buttoned the bottom around her knees. Not perfect but better than nothing. "Okay."

"You ready?"

This was going to hurt. "No."

"Good. Next time he slows down, we go."

"I love you."

"Love you too, babe." The car lurched, decelerating. "Go."

* * *

Manoosh checked, but all the doors that weren't the front door were locked with good old-fashioned manual locks, and he couldn't flash on the skills to open those. That left the front door, with its much fancier electronic lock, and utterly exposed to view. He'd had to wait a while for the Moon to move, leaving the door in shadow, but now was his chance.

He attached the leads to the wires and activated the lock pick, sweating bullets for the few seconds the device took to open the door. He raced to the stairwell and out of sight from anyone on street level.

* * *

Devon and Ellie ran through the piles of earth and debris, trying to lose themselves in what appeared to be a construction site. Devon's jacket had lost its buttons but still held to her waist, flapping annoyingly with every step. The winding path they followed came out on another branch of the road through the site. They barely had time to recognize their exposed position before a car turned on its lights and caught them in the beams. They turned and ran back into the mounds but they hadn't gone far before a woman's voice called, "Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski! I'm here to help."

A woman. They stopped and turned. "We're not the Bartowskis, we're the Woodcombes," said Devon. "She was just using Chuck's account."

The car pulled up next to them and stopped. The woman got out, holding out a badge. "Robyn Cunnings, FBI. Someone's after your brother, but it looks like you confused them. We don't know how long that will last, though, so if you'll come with us we'll take you to safety." The driver got out of the front seat and held the door for them.

"Thank you so much," said Ellie, taking a step forward. Suddenly she threw the matching bag on the ground at their feet, and the flash-bang sewn into the lining went off. It was Sarah's bag, after all.

By the time Robyn Cunnings' eyes cleared there was no sign of her prey. "Find them!" she yelled at her underling. As he ran into the mounds she raised a phone to her mouth. "Hawk. Dump the car and get back here! If we lose the Woodcombes we lose the Omen."

* * *

Manoosh found the server room standing open and abandoned. One machine had some indicators lit, probably the one Orion was able to detect. He cracked a chem-light and used it to examine the shell for damage. He'd already decided to just take the cores, but he didn't want to waste time taking apart a damaged box. The holes in this box showed the bullet would have missed the disks, so he went behind the rack to open it up.

A little wire connected the back of the box to a sensor in the wall. Someone knew this box was active! He scrambled out from behind the rack, only to find someone standing there. He tried to flash, but the watch wouldn't let him, and the man fired a weapon at point-blank range.

The man with the gun watched as the puny little guy collapsed, then went forward to make sure the tranq dart, dosed for a larger target, hadn't killed him. Yeah, he was alive, poor bastard. He zipped the little guy's hands and lifted him up. "Tell Miss Volkoff we have the Piranha."

* * *

Hawk and his partner returned from their search alone, but not empty-handed. "Her shoes," said one. "His tie."

Hawk held up something else. "A cell phone," he said, handing it over. "Must have lost it when they jumped out of the car."

Agent Cunnings checked the contacts list, stopped at _Chuck_. "Excellent," she said. "We can use this."

* * *

**A/N2 **A very Ellie-centric part of this episode. Not a lot of Charah even in canon. I thought about putting something with Sarah into this but the timing didn't allow it. She would have spent some time just learning the lay of the land in Gertrude's office.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N **There are whole web sites devoted to the question of 'soda' vs 'pop'. Who knew?

* * *

"_I'm just not seeing it."_

"_Chuck, you're the Piranha." _

"_If we lose the Woodcombes we lose the Omen."_

"_Tell Miss Volkoff we have the Piranha."_

* * *

"Ellie's missing, Sarah," said Chuck to the phone on the table. Not the best situation, he'd have preferred the touch of Sarah's hand, the smell of her perfume. If there was a curse to the spy life this was it, that they had to be separated at times like this, but…baby. At least he had her picture on his phone, to look at while he heard her voice from the speaker. "We were so worried about people coming after us we forgot about her."

"They would have been in no danger from anyone, Chuck, if she hadn't been using your account," said Sarah, her study of VC's more basic codes and tactical guides put to one side for now. "It was a simple accident, none of us had any way of knowing this would happen."

"That's very true, Sarah," said General Beckman, meaning Chuck. "Your real name has been kept buried, as far as the Norseman is concerned. Whoever brought these charges against Chuck had to have known about him and his connection to CI enough to muddy the waters."

"Decker," said Chuck and Sarah together, as they did most things, even when they were apart.

Beckman nodded. "Most likely. He wants the Omen, and his hostages, especially Colonel Casey, won't get it for him." She paused until Gertrude's growl rolled to an end. "I would assume he was after you directly, and Ellie's inclusion in this affair was purely accidental. I can't imagine he feels the need for more hostages, after the first two proved so…unhelpful."

Gertrude laughed into her glass as she took another drink.

"Do we even know he has Ellie?" asked Carina. "She's Chuck's sister, she'd fight back."

Everyone accepted the truth of that statement. "We've recovered Agent Simms' body, and the car," said Beckman. "Given the traffic situation in that area, it's possible they might have fled the car if it was forced to slow. Unfortunately that leaves us with no way to track them."

"Her phone?" asked Sarah.

"Is no longer transmitting," said Beckman.

Chuck frowned. There could be a lot of reasons for that, none of them good. "What's the plan?" he said, glad to have the General, and Sarah, and Gertrude available to strategize. He knew himself to be far too compromised to take any action on his own.

Beckman shrugged. "We wait. Somebody will call."

* * *

Devon groaned in pain as he unfolded himself from the small space behind the backseat of the SUV the scary lady rode around in. Not that she'd been scary when they'd first seen her, all 'let me help' and 'I know your brother', but the way she let loose after Ellie had blinded them would have frightened hardened Federal Agents, and did, from the way she had her minions scurrying around. "We're gonna need to buy a massage chair, on the way back home," he muttered to his wife.

"We have to get out of here first, Devon," she said, all frighteningly intense, and (he had to admit) really hot as she scanned the area for more bad guys. "Chuck will be here soon, one way or the other, so we just have to stay uncaptured until then." She crept along the side of the car to get a peek around the back. Unfortunately Agent Cunnings was silent all the way back to… wherever they were, so Ellie had no idea where they were. They might get lost, or worse, found, if they tried to leave.

"I thought you said they didn't want us," said Devon, creeping along behind her.

"They didn't, until you opened your mouth about me using Chuck's account," snapped Ellie, even while whispering. "Didn't you see her face? We were fine for the half second she thought we were just the Woodcombes."

"Sorry, babe," said Devon. "Not thinking. I guess I'm not a spy, either."

"I'm not a spy, Devon," said Ellie with a sigh. She pointed at an opening into the forest of pipes that filled the building. "I'm a Bartowski, and for now, so are you. The bright spot is, as long as she's got my phone she doesn't really need _us_. They think we escaped and they aren't looking, that's our opportunity."

"To escape for real?" asked Devon doubtfully. They were heading toward the door the car had come in, but escape just wasn't Ellie's _style_.

Ellie turned to face her husband and he recoiled from her ferocity. "That bitch wants my brother." And the Omen, whatever that was. She grabbed her husband's tie and pulled him in closer. "She can't have him." She kissed Devon fiercely, and took his hand. Together they crept across the shadowed floor and together they disappeared.

* * *

Robyn Cunnings paced through the hidden FBI base inside the abandoned factory, taking occasional swigs from the bottle of Chardonnay they'd found, trying desperately to think. When they'd handed her this assignment, they'd told her about Agent Charles' reputation, and Gertrude Verbanski's, and she'd planned accordingly. What they hadn't told her about was this second spy couple, calling themselves the Woodcombes.

'Mr. Woodcombe' looked fit enough for the role, and for a lot of other uses, but clearly his wits were lacking, letting Agent Charles' name drop like that. Or was that a ploy? Everything could be a ploy in the spy business.

Something had given her away, and 'Mrs. Woodcombe' had flash-banged them straightaway, with a CIA-issue clutch, matching the CIA-issue dress. _After_ tricking them into revealing themselves in the first place, by stumbling into sight, when they could have stayed hidden forever. So clever, and in hindsight Agent Cunnings could appreciate it. She'd even thought she'd been wrong, had gotten the wrong couple, and after what happened to Agent Johnson a moment of dread must have shown on her face.

Then Mr. Woodcombe said 'Chuck', so familiar, so casual, and her mask must have slipped. Again. Or rather, slipped _back_, in relief, and the woman must have been watching. Cleverer than they looked, the pair of them.

One thing was for sure. Those two were not wandering around in the dark. They were here. She'd probably brought them here herself, the one place none of them had checked was her own car, and no one had had any eyes on it since they got back. She had to assume the building was no longer secure. Every second from here on out was being used against her. She turned right around. "Hawk! Take this wine, and bring me that woman's phone." Once he was gone, doing her bidding, she turned to underling number two. "Send some men out into the factory, looking for those Woodcombes. They're here, I'm sure of it. Tell them to shoot to kill."

* * *

When Chuck's phone rang, everybody checked their comms. Thanks to the broadcasting ability of the new phones, he could let everyone listen in without putting the phone on speaker, while he could simply conference Sarah into the call directly. Taking the phone a short distance away, so no one would hear him twice, he played it cool while he started a trace. "Hey, Ellie!"

No such luck. "She's such a lovely person," said Robyn, her tone of voice indeterminate. "It's really quite unfortunate she got mixed up in our business."

"So you'll let her go?"

"I'd love to," said Robyn. "Why don't you and Agent Miller come on down and pick them up?"

As if this was about them. But she'd have to say that on an unsecured line, wouldn't she? "I have a better idea," said Chuck. "I'll call my good friend, Special Agent McHugh. I'm sure she'd love to give Ellie and Devon a lift."

Agent Cunnings' lip curled so loud he could hear it. "I'm sure she would–" that white-hat bitch "–but I think we both know that your friends aren't anywhere Agent McHugh would be familiar with."

Chuck glanced at his companions. "Yes, I think we do. Just as I think we both know what you really want."

That got a laugh. "I'm sure we do." No laughing now. "So this is how it's going to work. You will bring the other object of our mutual interest to me, and I will bring the Woodcombes to you. Three hours. I'll call."

Chuck checked his trace but the call was too short, the phone shut off. "You couldn't draw it out a bit?" Gertrude wanted to know, her anxiety for Casey's welfare apparent.

"The FBI solves kidnappings," said Carina. "They don't commit them, not usually, but when they do, they really know all the tricks. She won't give us that opening."

Gertrude looked over to Chuck. "So what can we do? Give her a fake Omen device?"

Chuck passed that buck. "General? It's your ball game."

Beckman sighed. "The first thing to check is whether or not it can be done in the time available. Any device we make should be as much like the Omen as possible. You said Decker had some way to verify it, so we should assume she does too."

"Decker saw it, too," said Chuck, with a frown. They'd have to assume she knew roughly what it looked like. "Manoosh has the tech. Let's call him and see what he can do."

Except that Manoosh wasn't answering his phone. Any of them, even the hand-made comm-unit he thought none of them knew about. "Could he be asleep?" asked Gertrude.

"Bad timing if he is," said Chuck.

His phone rang, and he jumped on the call. "Manoosh?"

"It's me," said Stephen Bartowski. "Were you just calling Manoosh?"

"And how would you know that, Dad?" asked Chuck slowly.

"Because I sent him out on a little errand a little while ago and he hasn't come back yet." A good bit of surveillance on Orion's part could be assumed.

His audience assumed it. "Where was this 'errand'?" asked Beckman at her least amused.

"He was trying to help Chuck," said Orion in lieu of an answer. "After _my wife disappeared_, there seems to have been a major information failure all around."

"She didn't disappear," said Chuck, in lieu of an apology. "She was kidnapped out of the prison by Clyde Decker, and all electronic traces of her presence there were erased by a hacker group working on his behalf, called the Collective. We've been working to get her back."

"I was wondering what happened to them," said Orion. "I'm guessing you didn't succeed."

Chuck looked around the table for help explaining the situation, and found none. Well, some. "It's complicated," said Sarah.

The phone snorted. "That bad, huh?"

"Mom, Casey, and now Manoosh." Chuck wasn't about to add Ellie and Devon to that list if he could help it.

General Beckman jumped on that grenade. "Where did you send him, Mister…" she looked sideways, at Verbanski, uncleared for so many things. "Orion."

"The only site of Chuck's recent missions I couldn't access belonged to a man named Roger Bale," said Orion, but Chuck flashed before he could say anything more.

"Vivian Volkoff."

* * *

The door frame was still locked, but the glass had long since been broken and removed, so that wasn't an obstacle. The sheet of wood covering the frame was more of one, or appeared to be.

Mister Carmichael pulled the wood easily out of his Mistress' way, and she stepped through the broken frame into the shell of an abandoned building. Naturally Decker and Tommy took advantage and followed, leaving Carmichael to bring up the rear as usual.

"It's a burnt-out ruin," observed Vivian, her voice echoing in the empty stillness. The place didn't smell, at least, but her clothes would probably get sooty beyond repair.

"Sure looks that way, doesn't it?" said Decker. "Welcome to the Triangulum."

* * *

"The arms dealer?" asked Gertrude. "What about her?"

"She hates me," said Agent Charles.

"She hates what she wants and can't have," amended Sarah. "Volkoff spoiled her badly, right from the start, and her time in his company only made it worse."

"But why would she want Mr. Depak? That is what you said, isn't it?"

"The connection is…obscure," said Chuck. About forty million dollars worth of obscure, but that was best kept a secret. "Dad, can you work on it for me? Right now we have a different mission."

"Bigger than a teammate in danger?" said Orion, disapproving.

"_Trust me_, Dad. He's not the only one."

"Okay, son, I'll do what you asked," said Orion, who was always good at picking up hints. "But whatever it is you're doing that's bigger than this, you be careful about fixing it."

"I'll do better than that, Dad, " said Chuck. "I'll ask you to help me."

* * *

Elsewhere, at the abandoned factory…

"How many is this, babe?" asked Devon, checking the unconscious guy's pulse. Did they all carry those little plastic strips that Ellie was tying them up with?

"Three," said Ellie, taking a last drink from the heavy glass bottle. "I may get to like Chardonnay after this."

* * *

Back at the bar, with Chuck and Orion doing their thing, and everybody else making plans…

When the phone rang again, the General answered it, since Chuck was otherwise occupied. "Yes, Hannah?" In the background they could all hear a crowd of people chanting 'Hounds Rule!' at the top of their lungs. "What's all that noise? Who's there with you?"

Suddenly the chanting cut out, except for one lone voice howling as Hannah said, "General, we were able to track down Ellie's location!"

* * *

An hour or so later, at the abandoned factory…

"How many is that?" asked Robyn Cunnings to the unfortunate underling tasked to bring her this news.

"He's the fifth, ma'am," said the poor guy, trembling. Not the fifth they'd found. The fifth they'd _lost_. "They raided the kitchen, stole some food, bottled water, and they got the wine too." He made a striking gesture.

Cunnings ran her claws–fingers, that is–through her hair, considering her options. "We have to move up the timetable. Get me that insufferable woman's phone."

"Boss!" yelled Mr. Hawk from far away. "You really want to see this."

Since the voice was coming from the same general direction of their surveillance set up, that's where she went, to find Mr. Hawk and the regular operator staring at a screen, showing the input from the front door camera. "This had better be something I really want to see, Hawk, or else I'll show you something really don't want to see."

Hawk pointed at the screen. "Isn't that the guy?"

Robyn leaned in to check the screen. Either this guy had a big head or he was really tall. Agent Charles was supposed to be tall. Suddenly he looked up at the camera and waved.

"What the hell is he doing here?" said Cunnings, checking the other monitors. "Where's his team?"

"We've been looking, boss," said Hawk. "There's no one else out there."

"You're kidding," she said. She spent a few seconds fruitlessly scanning the screens before she realized he hadn't said anything. "You're _not_ kidding?"

* * *

"I can't believe you two let him go in there alone," said Gertrude. Looking at that factory structure, she'd have used three teams, at a minimum, for the incursion.

"Well, that's the thing," said Carina, checking her weapons again. Tranq guns, the lot of them, and they made her feel a little off-balance with the lighter weight, but Chuck didn't like killing, and Beckman wanted to bring these dirty agents to trial. "Chuck's never alone." _He's got Sarah in his heart and Agent Charles in his head._

"We don't even know that anyone's in there," said Gertrude. "Hannah tracked a car and a phone. This Ellie person could be stumbling around in the dark without both."

Carina smiled, preparing to move. "You don't know Ellie." Chuck and his sister were in the same building together. Something was bound to happen soon.

* * *

"Ow," said Chuck as they pushed him up against a pole. He shrugged his shoulders as they slapped some kind of cuffs on him. "You realize I'll probably have to go see my chiropractor now."

"You'll have bigger things to worry about in just a minute," said Agent Cunnings, jacketless, and pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves.

"Are you a _Firefly_ fan too?"

Cunnings looked at her hand, flexing it inside the blue."Not an homage, just–" _snap!_ "–practical." She walked up to her helpless prisoner. "You see, I'm about to torture you, and you're about to give me what I want."

"I'm not giving you the Omen until I see Ellie and Devon walk out of here."

"I'm altering the deal," said Cunnings. She walked back to her cart of equipment, and turned a knob on a squat metal box. The front panel lit up and the thing hummed ominously. Cunnings picked up a pair of jumper cables, touching them together to make sparks fly. "We'll talk about the Omen after you get the Woodcombes for me. I'd like nothing better than to take them out of the equation, but we're doing it my way."

* * *

"She is one seriously scary lady," said Devon behind her.

"I'm not afraid of her," said Ellie.

"We're talking about _you_, babe."

_We? _Ellie turned, in time to see Devon knock a suited thug out with a single punch. He shrugged, shaking his hand. "I don't think he believed me, though."

"Come on," she said imperatively. "Time to use our tactical advantage."

* * *

Carina was ready for anything, and the lights suddenly going out qualified. Gertrude wasn't far behind. They both knew they had only a few seconds before the backup generator would kick in, and they had to penetrate the outer defenses in that little window.

They maneuvered through the shadows, following the sound of voices. No one saw them, no one tried to stop them. "This is too easy," said Gertrude.

Carina hit something with her foot, and they heard a groan. Looking down, they saw a man in a suit, his hands and feet ziptied. "Ellie's been here." She shot him with a dart, just because.

"One down," said Gertrude.

"And _us_ to go," said Carina.

The lights came back up, and the two agents pulled the NVGs from their eyes. They hastened through the forest of pipes, finding and tranqing many of Ellie's victims.

Off to the side, they heard a clank of glass on metal, and a shadow blocked the path. They turned and fired as one, and the man fell. In the light they couldn't see he'd been facing away from them. He'd been looking at Ellie, standing there in the corridor with a wine bottle in her hands, holding it against a pipe.

"Are you all right?" asked Carina, as Gertrude secured the fallen agent.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," said Ellie, sinking to her knees. She let go of the bottle. "I don't think I like Chardonnay anymore."

"Doesn't look like it likes you much, either," said Carina, taking the bottle herself. "Where's Devon?"

Ellie…belched. "The scary woman has him. He killed the lights and went after Chuck, but the lights came back on and she got him."

Carina and Gertrude shook their heads. Amateurs. Carina helped Ellie back to her feet, as Gertrude went off to scout the approaches. "Come with us," she said quietly. "We've got you, now we're going to go get them."

They caught up to Gertrude at the edge of a pit. Down below, Chuck and Devon stood strapped to I-beams, while a blonde woman stood between them, plugging a rectangular metal box into a computer. "Sitrep?" asked Carina.

"I count ten hostiles, plus her. She's got the Omen already," said Gertrude. "I can't believe Agent Charles gave it up so quickly."

"Neither can I," said Carina.

"What are you gonna do?" asked Ellie.

The lights went out a second time, and Carina smiled in the dark, pulling her NVGs down again. "What we do best."

* * *

**A/N2 **Now that this story is beginning to diverge from canon, I'm a little worried that it's working right. Hopefully you guys reading it still think it makes sense.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N **I hope you liked my version of the Curse as much or more than the original. I actually liked Agent Cunnings, she was fun in an over-the-top campy sort of way, but they didn't use her enough that way.

* * *

"_Ellie's missing."_

"_She didn't disappear." _

"_You're kidding."_

"_What are you gonna do?"_

* * *

A little back in time...

Decker led Vivian through the ruined building slowly, the illumination from outside feeble and the footing treacherous. The lights didn't work, of course, although they could have been made to with a little effort, but why bother? The upper floors were merely camouflage, for the most part, functioning as both an entrance and a trap. Lots of homeless people found that swinging board, after all, and nobody missed them, except for the other drifters.

"We used to get quite a few, early on," said Decker, pointing at various attempts at habitation, now scattered, part of what made the footing so treacherous. "We planned for that, of course. It was necessary for that phase of our operation, but the word spread around, so our supply of lab rats dried up. I had to employ Thomas here far more often than I like to fill in the shortfall."

"Why more than you'd like? Surely the risk was low enough, I should think he would excel at that sort of thing," said Vivian, with a glance at Tommy's impassive face.

"He was the wrong tool for the job," said Decker, turning a corner and getting out a light, now that it would not be seen from outside. "Part of the game of 'catch and release' is keeping what you've caught in a state fit to be released, not something he was good at. I was afraid forcing him to do so would blunt his edge, honestly, but your visit with Mr. Bale seems to have sharpened him right up again."

"Glad I could be of service."

Decker stopped, forcing the others to stop with him. "You know better than that, Miss Volkoff. I'm sure your father taught you that no _quid_ comes without a matching _quo_."

Vivian could not, would not, betray any of the lessons her father taught her. _I am Volkoff. I play by the rules, and I always win._ "He did."

"I loaned my man out to you, at your request, and ultimately for our mutual benefit," said Decker with his characteristic arrogant smirk. He glanced at Mr. Carmichael. "Now it's time for you to return the favor."

* * *

Later, at the factory…

"Do you have any idea what that virus will do if you release it?" asked Chuck, hoping to slow his captor down by whatever few seconds he could. Carina and Gertrude had to be in the building, after that little blackout. While it was too late for them to get Devon to safety, they could still take care of Ellie.

"That's need to know, Chuck," said Agent Cunnings, opening a document on the computer. "And I don't need to know. I just do my job, whatever piece of the puzzle they assigned to me, collect my bonus, and I'm gone."

"So you don't know that that virus will destroy the world?"

"Will it, now?" she asked, sounding bored. "If you ask me, a world that can be destroyed by some plan that Clyde Decker thought up, probably deserves to be." She changed the way she held the Omen.

"Wow, that's cold."

"I was about to torture you with electricity," said Robyn, giving him an almost coquettish look over her shoulder. "I was really looking forward to it, too. I'm a little upset I didn't get to use my Toy, it's truly my favorite part." She smiled, coquetry completely gone. "I'd think 'cold' was a given."

"It doesn't have to be," said Chuck with a gulp. "You obviously take a lot of pleasure in your work–"

Robyn rolled her eyes, and got back to her work. "If you don't shut up I'm going to teach your friend here how to smile," she said casually, her blue-coated fingers making adjustments to some of the switches on the Omen delivery device. Once she was done she attached a cable to the back and executed the program, the bright red progress bar big enough for Chuck to see from where he was.

* * *

Back in the villains' evil lair…

The facilities below stairs were in much better condition. "This is more like it," said Vivian, running a finger along the top of a table. "Could use some maid service, though."

"it's a little bit late for that," said Decker. By this time tomorrow, this whole place will be a hole in the ground."

"Deliberately, I trust."

Decker laughed. "Yes, and about time, too." He walked over to the desk and lifted up the phone handset there, a relic from not so long in the past. "We have the Omen. What's the status on the–still?...I've already initiated the back-up plan…Because I knew your idiots would bungle the job. We'll have what we need in time." He put his valise on the desk and opened it, lifting out the compact weight of the Omen virus in its delivery system. "Phase Three starts now."

* * *

Back at the factory…

"What now?" asked Chuck.

"Well, that's the fun part, isn't it?" said Robyn, watching the bar move, taunting him almost by reflex. "That's not only 'need to know', it's 'need to care', and I don't really." The bar reached the end, flashing 'upload complete' on the screen. "There. The Omen virus is now officially unleashed upon the world."

"Melodramatic much?" asked Chuck.

Agent Cunnings picked up her gun and turned around. "Come on, how often does a spy get a chance to say a line like that?"

"You got me there," said Chuck. "I remember my mother–"

"Shut up, Chuck," said Robyn, chambering a round. "You almost make me wish I could kill you myself, but you've pissed off a lot of powerful people."

"And besides, you don't care."

"I don't." She certainly didn't sound like she did.

"So what's the gun for?"

"I don't care about _you_," said Agent Cunnings. She took aim at Devon's head. "This guy, though, and his partner, have been pissing _me_ off all night."

"Well, that's just poor tradecraft, is what that is," said Chuck.

"Chuck?" said Devon.

"Not you, Devon, her," said Chuck, and the blonde torturess looked insulted. "I mean, come on, Agent whoever you are–"

"Cunnings. Robyn Cunnings."

"Agent Cu–" Chuck shook his head. "It doesn't sound any better when _you_ say it. Anyway, you've got a guy, tied to a pole, surrounded by your goons, while his partner is roaming your base doing who knows what, and you're worried about _him_?"

"Chuckster," said Devon, "You're talking about Ellie!"

Chuck smirked. "Not your partners, Devon. Mine."

The lights went out.

* * *

The bar reached the end, flashing 'upload complete' on the screen. "There," said Decker. "The Omen virus is now officially unleashed upon the world."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "You sound like a comic-book villain." Her father would have approved.

Decker shrugged. "Maybe, but how often does a guy get a chance to say a line like that?"

* * *

"Are you kidding me?" bellowed Robyn Cunnings into the dark. "Again?"

Idiot, thought Gertrude Verbanski. The blonde agent should have been dispersing her forces, making them harder to attack, while seeking out enemy operatives. Speaking of dispersing her forces, and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she and Agent Miller activated their drones and sent them on their way. With their own optics displaying a little red light right above their noses (and she'd have a word with the manufacturer about _that _bit of placement), the drones would be a nice distraction for anyone looking for targets.

Sure enough, the bobbing movement of the glowing lights in the dark attracted the attention of the trigger-happy goons down below. Gertrude and Carina didn't really even need the NVGs, they could have just aimed slightly above the glow of the muzzle-flashes and taken down most of their own targets.

Still, the odds were ten to two, and it wasn't like they had unlimited amounts of ammunition, or an Intersect to shoot it with. Keeping their heads still and movements slow, Carina and Gertrude circled the room, picking off their adversaries one by one. The stupider ones, anyway. Some had the sense to conceal themselves in places where it would be hard to get a shot, or had come out of said concealment in order to take a shot of their own, and those enemies got a more…personal treatment.

In seconds the unequal battle was over, Agent Cunnings alone still standing, probably regretting that she'd removed her grey jacket to reveal her white tank top. Her enemies closed in from either side, much harder to see in the dark. "Drop the gun."

A woman's voice, but not a woman she knew. Robyn dangled the gun on a finger, placing it on the table next to the Toy. "Fine. I surrender."

Rapid footsteps sounded the approach of a third figure out of the darkness. "You don't get off that easy," she shouted, making Chuck wince, so he missed the solid right cross that dropped Robyn Cunnings like a rock.

"Ellie!" said Carina, "You were supposed to wait until we gave the all clear."

"We're clear," said Gertrude, kneeling to secure the last prisoner. "You got any cuffs? I used mine upstairs."

"Is that a serious question?" asked Carina, checking her various pockets. "What kind do you want?"

Ellie ignored it all, rushing over to her husband. "Devon, honey, are you okay? Chuck?"

"Right here," said her brother from behind her, the cuffs still on his wrists but the strap that once held them together sliced clean through. "Let me get those off you, Devon."

The second his arms were free Devon took Ellie into them. "That was an awesome punch, babe. You would have made a super-spy."

"You should still have waited, though," said Chuck, cracking some chemical lights. "There might have been more."

Eleanor Woodcombe shook her hand from the pain, unapologetic. "She ruined my date!"

* * *

Now that he was no longer in danger, it was time to think about saving his life. Leaving the clean-up to Carina, Gertrude, and whoever Beckman decided to send, Chuck raced from the building to the van, to pick up his gear, especially his phone. And there were only…seventeen attempts to call him in the last half hour. He called one of them back at random. "Hey, Sarah."

"You'd better be fine."

"I am fine. Ellie and Devon are fine too. We're all fine, here, thanks. How about you?"

"I can't believe I let you go in without me."

"Me, too."

"If it was anyone but Ellie…" And Devon, because they came as a package.

"Funny story there," said Chuck, not at all sure that she'd think it was funny, but you can't blame a guy for trying. "Apparently Ellie knew I'd be coming by, and got all Die Hard on us. Took out almost half of the bad lady's goons by herself."

"How is that funny, Chuck?"

"Not funny, not funny at all," said Chuck, smiling hard, so she could hear it. "Just…more people watching my six when I needed it most. And of course Carina and Gertrude made sure they were safe, along with me. One big happy family."

"Good," said Sarah, not sounding happy. "I'd hate to have to tell our baby how her daddy got himself, her aunt, _and_ her uncle killed all at the same time."

_She scares because she cares._ "I love you too," said Chuck, his cheeks beginning to hurt. "So much."

"You're going back underground with Carina?"

"Uh, no. Carina and Gertrude will take Agent Cu–dammit, it just doesn't get any easier–take the scary lady in for questioning. I'll be driving Ellie and Devon home."

"Don't get killed."

"I won't."

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

"This isn't over–"

"Whoops, here come Ellie and Devon, gotta go, love you, bye." He shoved the phone quick into his pocket, so he wouldn't feel it buzz when she called back, and jogged back into the factory, where he found his sister and her husband necking in an alcove. "Please tell me you guys are ready to go."

"Mm-_hmm_," groaned Ellie.

"Save that for later," said Chuck. "Or at least the back seat." With the radio on real loud.

* * *

Later, at CI…

"You call this a base?" asked Agent Cunnings when they took the bag from her head.

"No," said General Beckman. "I call it a hole in the ground, which is all that someone like you deserves. I believe it does come with a first-rate cell block, though." With a gesture, Beckman directed Verbanski in the appropriate direction, and the mercenary commander gave Robyn a good strong shove.

Beckman stayed back for a moment. "Agent Miller, you don't need to know what we may have to do, so I suggest you put your time to good use elsewhere. Perhaps you could contact Agent McHugh and find out what sanction, if any, Agent Cu–umm…"

"Her," suggested Carina, recognizing the General's difficulty. For some reason Agent Cunnings' name seemed to bother a lot of people. Not her, though.

Beckman looked grateful. "Yes, her. Find out whatever sanction _she_ may have had for her actions. She's the only link we've got between the Omen and this arrest order."

* * *

"Okay, Chuck, first thing," said Ellie, rubbing her temples. "Arcade Fire's first album, definitely _not_ an auditory aphrodisiac." Not that she needed or wanted any aphrodisiacs, thank you very much, she had been doing quite well on her own. "Second, what the hell were you thinking, giving that woman a virus that could destroy every computer in the world, just so you could save us?" She didn't sound all that grateful, but that may have had more to do with the music that Chuck played at top volume while she and Devon were trying to keep busy in the back. She'd never really liked his taste in music, tonight even less than usual.

"I didn't give that woman a virus that could destroy the world," said Chuck. "I gave her a virus that would shut down her computer. After a bit of resistance, of course. I didn't really want Devon to get caught too, but at least it made the con work."

"Yeah, I thought you caved a little quick, there, bro."

"But not too quick," said Chuck, a little stung that nobody believed him. Except the bad guy, the only one that mattered. "I had to make it look good."

Ellie frowned at him. "You what?"

"We were taking a bit of a chance that she'd check the code, like Decker did, but Dad and I made a pretty good fake, and anyway, she didn't even check it. Between you two and then Carina and Gertrude, she must have felt she really had to rush. Good work, sis."

Ellie ignored the compliment. "She should have checked it."

"Yes, she should have," said Chuck.

"It's like you said back there, bro," said Devon. "She really wasn't very good at her job."

Chuck looked up at the rearview mirror, and saw his sister looking at him.

* * *

General Beckman walked out of the cell-block with a bounce in her stride. Verbanski followed her with the Toy in her hand and a slight smile on her face. Carina was sitting at the table making notes. "Agent Miller," said Beckman. "Did you contact Agent McHugh as I suggested?"

Carina stopped writing. "Yes, General. It looks like we fell for it simply because it was true, we did kidnap Mr. Davis, after all, and all the rest, but she's looking into the source. A former cyber-terrorist on the lam from both the law and his former employers shouldn't have been making any noises."

The General nodded. "_She_ confessed to taking payments from Vivian Volkoff. When the order came in she was well-positioned to act on it, before anyone could find out that it was bogus." Beckman pointed back behind her. "Strip the cell monitors of their recordings, and forward them to her Director right away, please. The sooner we can get these charges rescinded the sooner I can get my best team back to work."

Carina stood up, eager to please a General who considered a team she was on to be her best. "Anything else, General?"

"Yes. I'll be escorting Miss Verbanski back to her headquarters personally, to guard against any possible screw-ups on that end. I'll call the Director myself en route, to let him know the recordings are on their way and to confirm their authenticity. I expect he'll send a team of his own to take _her_ and her 'Toy' into custody, but until he does you will have to stay on guard here." Verbanski put the metal box on the table.

"Yes, General."

"Dismissed."

* * *

Ellie sat forward as they rounded the corner onto her street. "That's weird," she said, staring out the window.

Devon started to sweat. "What's weird, babe?"

"The sitter's car is gone."

Chuck slowed down and pulled to the side, approaching the house at a slow crawl. "Are you sure?"

"Did she even have a car, El?" asked Devon. "I thought she got dropped off."

Ellie sat back, indecisive. She couldn't remember if there was anything to remember. After everything that had happened to them tonight, maybe she was just jumping at shadows. "I don't know."

Chuck sat there, indecisive himself. He should notify Sarah but a) it was probably nothing and b) she was already over-the-top protective and would want him to call out the National Guard, and c) it was probably nothing. Unfortunately the alerts programmed into his watch and his car didn't come with sharps and flats. They didn't have a green-plus or a yellow-minus. If he sent a yellow alert he may as well call for the National Guard. On the other hand…

He pressed the Condition Green signal, and pulled up to the house. "I'll go in with you," he said. "If there's a problem, we'll handle it, and if there's not a problem, I can give your sitter a lift home."

"No, Chuck," said Ellie, embarrassed and…well, let's just leave it at embarrassed for now. "It's probably nothing–"

"I want to believe that as much as you do, sis," said Chuck, which was a lie and they all knew it. Nobody could want to get her and Devon alone in that house as much as she did right now. At the very least, he could get the sitter out of there faster. "We go."

He led the way up the walk, with Ellie right on his heels, and opened the door himself, scanning the room. The first thing he saw was the sitter, on the couch.

"Oh, thank God," said Ellie pushing in behind him.

Too late, Chuck tried to push her back. "No, sis. She's been tranqed."

"Shhh," came a quiet whisper from the other side of the room, and Chuck pushed the door open to its fullest extent. Mr. Carmichael sat in a chair, little Clara securely cradled in one arm, a tranq pistol securely held in his other hand. "The baby's sleeping."

* * *

Meanwhile, down in the hole known as Carmichael Industries, where Carina Miller, her duty done, footage sent, was transcribing her hasty notes into something more legible on her computer. Much to her annoyance, the screen started to flicker before she'd gotten it half done. She took it off its mount and tried to clear the screen, but every window had the same problem.

So did most of the computers in the hole with her, but she wasn't looking at them. Nor was she looking at the door to the only cell in their little cellblock as the computer that told the lock to lock stopped telling it anything, and the lock turned green.

* * *

**A/N2 **I hadn't really thought about it until I got there, but I had to have _some_body come out of a locked cell...


	45. Project Omaha

**A/N **No return of Shaw in this one, he died a hero and will stay that way.

* * *

"_It's time for you to return the favor."_

"_Phase Three starts now." _

"_You sound like a comic-book villain."_

"_The baby's sleeping."_

* * *

Ellie made a strangled sound through her nose, part fury at seeing her baby in the hands of a stranger, part fear, and part pure frustration. Chuck, fluent in grunt after years of Casey, understood every last nuance. "Don't worry, sis, this guy's too smart to hurt her," he said, mostly sure it was true. "This is just an attention-getting ploy."

"Attention gotten, bro," said Devon.

Chuck took a small step forward to get the attention of his doppelganger. "What do you want?"

Carmichael's head moved, the tranq pistol did not. "You will sit there," he said, indicating the seats at the far end of the room.

Chuck looked at the seats, and what lay on the table near the seats, and nodded. "Ellie, Devon." As they moved to the couch Chuck felt compelled to shield them as best he could, the only thing he could shield them from anymore.

Before they sat, Carmichael spoke to Ellie, not having to get her attention at all. "Those straps," he said, indicating the cable ties on the table with a flick of his gun. "Their wrists. And if they aren't properly snug I will make them very snug, is that clear?"

Ellie, her glare promising death, nodded microscopically and restrained the two men as directed, her newly-acquired expertise with cable ties coming in handy.

"The cuffs are for you," said Carmichael, and Ellie cuffed herself, sinking down on the couch next to the unconscious sitter.

Carmichael stood up, not an easy feat with a sleeping baby and no free hands. After inspecting her work, he said, "I'll be right back." He walked out of the room and down the hall, and the three heard the sound of the door opening twice over, once from a distance and once from the baby monitor on the table.

"Hey, little girl," they heard him whisper, as the springs to her crib creaked slightly. "Someone will be in to take care of you soon, after I have a little word with your uncle." Glances were exchanged all around, confusion and hope combined.

The doubled sound of the door closing marked the return of Carmichael to the room, gun in hand, just in case, but when he saw his captives still where and how he left them the gun went away. He stepped into the space bounded by the seats, ignoring Ellie and Devon, and leaned over Chuck, his arms braced on the arms of the chair, his face inches away, brown eyes staring into brown eyes. "Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?"

* * *

Robyn Cunnings looked up from her seat on the dismal bench in the dismal cell of this base that even that little General woman called a dismal hole in the ground. The door made a noise, like it was being opened, but no one opened it, and no one should have. She'd told the General everything she wanted to know, rather than risk being disabled by her own Toy if a chance for escape came, and it was far too soon for anyone from her former Bureau to come and collect her.

She tried the door and it opened, the locking mechanism flickering, just as she'd been told to expect. She heard a muttered curse from the direction of the large room, and crept over. The red-haired agent was sitting at the table, trying to get her computer to work. Easy meat.

* * *

Carina looked up from her stupid laptop, its various windows all static-y and frozen, to see that the problem wasn't just with her machine. Every screen in CI was showing the same thing, even the ones with Chuck's own safeguards. She moved instantly to contact Chuck, or anyone, but of course the apps on her computer were useless. She stood up and leaned over the table get her phone, something lower-tech and more reliable.

* * *

Robyn's surprise attack, launched against the back of Carina's head when she was sitting, instead caught her…um… somewhat lower down when she stood up. Carina pitched forward onto the table and her own computer, her phone and her tranq pistol sliding over the far edge and out of sight. Robyn leapt forward to grab the agent by the hair and improve her looks a little against the table-top, but she had no idea how defensive Carina Miller could be where her nose was concerned.

* * *

"What have I ever done to you?" asked Chuck.

Carmichael gusted a laugh into Chuck's face as his arms pushed against the chair, launching him upright. "What have you ever done to me?" he repeated, incredulous, and pounced on Chuck with a snarl. "_Look at me!_ I'm nothing but pain to her, that's what you've done to me."

Chuck knew who 'her' was, but Ellie and Devon had never had the pleasure. "Vivian MacArthur was a fine woman," he said, both to clue them in and because it was true. "Vivian Volkoff is a ruin."

"Miss Vivian is a wonder, even now." Carmichael back-handed Chuck across the face. "If she's a ruin, it's because _you_ ruined her."

Chuck took the blow easily, having seen it coming from a mile off. "Her father ruined her. She ruined herself, when she used the Norseman."

"No," said Carmichael, turning away. "You ruined her." Suddenly he turned to Ellie. "Who are you?"

Looking surprised, she said, "I am Eleanor Woodcombe."

"Mm-hmm." Carmichael went to where he'd been sitting and picked up a sheet of paper that had been near him. He brought it back over and shoved it in front of Chuck. "Who is this woman?" he demanded.

'The woman' was Ellie, holding Clara, with her husband and her brother side-by-side at her back. There were quite a few such pictures taken those first few days of Clara's life, but none of them had ever been printed, just kept locked up under a password on her computer, that clearly wasn't secure enough. "You know who she is," said Chuck, not sure exactly what point Carmichael was trying to make, and unwilling to give him any more intel than he might already have. The picture was bad enough.

"You called her 'sis'," said Carmichael, pointing at Ellie.

_Oops._ Heat of the moment. "I did."

Carmichael crumpled the paper. "You told Miss Vivian that she killed your pregnant sister." Who clearly wasn't dead, nor was her child.

"You said _what_, Chuck?" asked Devon.

Chuck looked at his bro-in-law. "I did not, Devon, how could you think that?" Looking back at Carmichael, he said, "I told Vivian that she'd missed, unless she'd _intended_ to kill my pregnant sister, not at all the same thing."

"Kinda sounds like the same thing to _me_, dude," said Devon.

"I never said she actually killed Ellie," said Chuck. "Whose side are you on?"

"It's not a question of sides, Chuck," said Ellie. "What you said and what she heard aren't the same thing, especially when you're speaking in anger and she's listening with a guilty conscience."

Chuck thought about what he'd said, wishing his magic memory didn't make it so easy. "She thinks she killed you," he said in horror. "She thinks she killed Clara."

Ellie looked stricken, and was, because she was Ellie. "Chuck, you've got to fix this."

"She must feel so…soulless," said Devon.

Chuck looked up at Carmichael. "I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter," said Carmichael. "You destroyed the woman she was, and nothing you can do will _fix_ that. There's only one thing I can do now, and I'm going to do it." He dropped the crumpled up ball containing all their smiling faces into the trash, and pulled out his gun.

* * *

Carmichael Industries' base was really too small for all the damage Carina and Robyn were inflicting on it and each other. Carina pushed off against the table, head-butted her opponent in the face (no well-honed nose-protecting reflexes there), and back-kicked her into a wall. When Robyn came at her again Carina pushed the chair in her way, grabbed a flailing arm and tossed her over the table onto the floor.

Carina went after her, almost falling for Robyn's possum act, but she jumped away from Robyn's sweeping leg before it could connect. The blonde rose shakily to her feet. "Is that all you got?"

"I've got lots more where that came from," said Carina. "Let's dance."

* * *

In Beckman's car on the way back to VC…

Gertrude Verbanski got out her phone. "I need to contact my people, if you don't mind?" she said to Beckman.

The General considered it. "You'd better use my phone. Until I can get these charges officially dropped we can do without any more little hiccups." Gertrude gladly and happily entered her VIP line into the General's phone.

"Verbanski Corporation," said the speaker.

"This is Verbanski," she said when the desk picked up. Once they'd authenticated her, she told them to "Get me the Watch Commander."

The wait was admirably short. "Yes, ma'am?"

"The situation has stabilized, Fitz. The arrest orders are being rescinded as we speak. Let Mrs. Bartowski know."

"She already knows, Ma'am. Tore outta here like a bat outta Hell not five minutes ago, said she got a 'Condition Green' alert, of all things."

"Understood, Fitz," said Gertrude, lying through her teeth. "See you soon." Gertrude turned to Beckman. "I don't…understand." Who would send a 'Condition Green' _alert_?

"Neither do I," said Beckman candidly. The bond between those two transcended both duty and loyalty. "But I'm sure Chuck does."

* * *

Carina aimed a kick but Robyn ducked, going for the fallen gun. She brought it up but Carina trapped Robyn's hand with her own, and the gun went flying. Robyn grabbed Carina around the waist, throwing them both over the table and onto the ground, along with her Toy, which started to hum, and Carina's laptop, which did not.

Carina grabbed her useless computer and swatted Robyn like a fly. "Sloppy, Cunnings, very sloppy."

Robyn Cunnings grabbed the clips of her Toy and pressed them against Carina's knee, and she collapsed, cursing. Cunnings pressed the clips against her back. Agent Miller flopped over, twitching, and Robyn was perfectly willing to kick her while she was down. Robyn dove for the gun and fired two darts into her enemy. "You may be neat," she said, as Carina stopped twitching, "But you're not lucky."

* * *

Diane Beckman allowed herself to be given a quickie VIP tour of Verbanski's operation, but both commanders knew that this was not the proper time for more than the barest of courtesies. As she travelled back to her usual haunts Beckman pondered the events of the night, especially Chuck's unusual alert and its powerful effect on his wife.

The Omen was contained. Decker's accomplice had been captured and confessed to his operation and her part in it. The charges against her team, however factually based, were unsupported. The crisis was over.

But it didn't _feel_ over.

General Beckman hated operating on intuitions. She needed intel. She hit her speed dial, but Chuck didn't answer. Neither did Sarah. On a hunch, she called Ellie, and that call got answered. "Doctor Woodcombe," said General Beckman, "Why are you answering your wife's phone?"

* * *

A long while later, somewhere else…

Ellie stared out the window as the car pulled up in front of the burnt-out ruin. "Sarah, where are we?" she said, as the driver got out.

Sarah leaned over and took a look. "I can give you the address, Ellie, but I've never been here."

The door opened, and Ellie looked up into her brother's face, which also happened to be that guy Carmichael's face. "Last stop, ladies," he said, reaching in. His strong arm steadied Ellie even as it pulled her from the back seat, making sure her coat covered the cuffs on her wrists. Holding onto her with one hand, he reached into the car again with his long arms to give Sarah the same firm but not discourteous treatment.

She looked up into his face. "Chuck?" she said automatically.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid your husband can't help you now, Agent Charles." He turned both women toward the front door and pushed.

* * *

"If only I had my computer," said Manoosh for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"If only you'd stop talking about it," said Casey, so maybe it was. Or perhaps it was because Manoosh wasn't chained in place the way he was, so he was treated to the sight of the little guy endlessly roaming the cell he was in like a caged…koala, looking for some kind of access point. As if there would be one. He looked up–again–at the corner of his own cell, where the emergency fire escape ladder had been removed, the grill sealed shut. Whatever government facility this used to be had seen better days.

Manoosh pounded on the door of his cell. "I could get us out of here, I could take over this whole place if I had one."

"Maybe that's why you don't have one, genius."

"Try being more constructive with your criticisms, Colonel," said Mary, from the next cell over. "You're doing fine, Manoosh. It's every government agent's duty to try to escape and harass the enemy in any way he can, so your heart's in the right place. Try thinking about what you do have, and use that."

* * *

Upstairs…

The tall man who looked like Chuck propelled his two captives toward their meeting with destiny.

"Well, well, well," said Vivian, seated in the closest thing the facility had to a throne, as she preferred. Decker loomed, as he preferred. "Agent Walker."

"My name is Bartowski."

Vivian made an amused hum. "Not for much longer." She deigned to notice Ellie. "And who is this?"

Ellie said nothing, but the man standing behind her wasn't so reluctant. "Her name is Eleanor Woodcombe, Miss. She's Agent Charles' sister, the one he told you was dead."

Vivian lost her smile. "How do you know this?"

"The house I was told to go to had lots of pictures of the mother and the baby, but none with Agent Charles. When the Omen struck I took the opportunity to look for others in the computer's secure folders, and found several with him in them."

Vivian said nothing, just stood and approached Ellie slowly, as if afraid she would disappear. She reached out a hand and lightly stroked the curve of Ellie's jaw, the billows of her hair. "Sister. He told me I'd killed you."

Ellie shook her head, dislodging Vivian's touch. "He told you the Norseman struck me, which is true. You assumed it would kill, but Chuck found your father and got the cure."

"My father?" Vivian laughed. "You must mean that Winterbottom person, no father of mine." She turned away, back to her throne. "Mr. Carmichael, you may put these two with the others. But first, come here."

"Yes, Miss."

Vivian stood waiting as he approached, with a pleased smile on her face. When he stopped before her she lashed out with a jab to the throat and a punch to the stomach. She finished him off with a side kick into the wall, and he slid down, barely able to breathe. "Idiot! Did you truly think I wouldn't recognize my own man?"

Chuck looked up, into the barrel of Mr. Decker's gun. "Well, it was worth a try," he rasped.

* * *

A flashback, in lieu of italics, because really, who wants to read those…

Carmichael stood above him, gun in hand. Then he knelt, putting the gun on the table. "I surrender."

"You what?" Chuck had asked.

"I can't help her, not anymore, but I can't stop her, either." He looked Chuck in the eye. "_You_ have to do that."

Chuck nodded. "I'll do my best."

"She says you can do anything."

"Not _any_thing, but– Chuck flexed his arms, and the cable-tie snapped "–enough. El?"

"One second," said his sister, shifting in her chair. "I'm not Carina, you know." Still, it didn't take long before the handcuffs were back on the table.

"Now," said Chuck, as Ellie went to the kitchen to get a pair of scissors to cut Devon loose. "Tell me everything you know about their operation."

Carmichael knew a great deal, like most servants, and debriefing him took time. Ellie and Devon disappeared, Chuck didn't know where, he didn't _want_ to know where. Only once were they interrupted, when Sarah came charging through the door, calling her husband's name. She stopped short at the sight of two of him, but lost no time going to her husband's side.

"How did you know?" Chuck had asked.

"Why would you send out a Condition Green, except when things weren't Green?"

"Well, green-ish, sort of a chartreuse, maybe…no, I meant about me, just now."

She put her head against his chest, listening to him breathe. "Wife, remember? Not to mention spy. I'd know you in a room full of clones. So what's the job?"

* * *

Back in the present…

"Where is my man?" said Vivian.

"You sent him to kidnap a baby, Vivian, where do you think he is." The FBI handled kidnappings.

Vivian had people in the FBI, she'd get him back later. "The child was just leverage, Agent Walker, I sent him for you."

"You really are a monster," said Ellie.

Vivian took Ellie's jaw in a much harsher grip than before. "Speak again, 'sister', 'dear', and I will show you how much of my father's daughter I truly am." She dismissed Ellie from her attention. "Mr. Decker. Keep an eye on these two. Better yet, perhaps you should introduce this one to Mr. Delgado, I understand he likes sisters. I want to have a word with Mrs. Bartowski. Alone."

* * *

**A/N2 **Next Wednesday is the day before Thanksgiving, the busiest travel day of the year, so I won't be posting the next chapter of this until December 2. This arc will finish before Christmas, and the finale will happen in January. Hopefully I'll see you there.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N **No embarrassing office party scene here.

* * *

"_Attention gotten."_

"_Whose side are you on?" _

"_Your husband can't help you now."_

"_I want to have a word with Mrs. Bartowski."_

* * *

In transit somewhere…

The world roared, the world bounced. Carina Miller came back to that world with blurry vision and a pain in her back that just would not stop. She tried to move her hands to rub at the spot but found they wouldn't move very well, pulling on her legs behind her back. "…the _hell_?"

"Ah, Agent Red-Hair, you're back with us," said Robyn from the front seat. "Well, me, but believe me, I didn't miss you."

"Bitch."

Suddenly Robyn braked and swerved the car to the right, hitting a pothole, and Carina belly-flopped off the seat. "I hope that hurt," said Robyn, when Carina didn't make a sound, one syllable too late. "Only my friends get to call me 'bitch'. I mean, I'm grateful you let me borrow your extensive handcuff collection, but that doesn't make us friends." She reached back blindly and felt for the cuffs, tightening them all. "Now shut up and let me listen." She turned up the volume on the stolen car's stolen radio.

"…_A virus, dubbed the Omen, has infected computers worldwide…" _said a female reporter, her voice pitched to induce fear, rather than quell it.

Robyn smiled. To herself, since Carina was staring at the dirty carpet at the moment. "It's so nice to be appreciated."

"…_Are their hard drives in danger of being erased?"_

A male voice broke in. _"Or is the virus a gag that does nothing? Why panic?"_

Robyn turned the sound down. "Just between you and me, I bet that reporter does a better job stirring up people's fears than the guy will do trying to calm them. That's what reporters do, them and politicians." She heard nothing from the back seat area, except for Carina blowing the hair out of her face. "What? No bet? Or do you just not want to get involved in a political discussion?" Cunnings nodded. "Probably wise, so much negativity in the air nowadays." She turned the sound up.

"_The virus is everywhere and nobody knows how to stop it, nobody knows how to stop it," _said someone else in a shrill voice. Robyn couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but really it didn't matter. Only the panic mattered. The radio made a soft sound, like a bicycle tire leaking air. _"What is going on here?"_

Robyn started to hum 'It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' softly to herself as she drove on.

* * *

"Thank you, Surgeon, I'll take it from here," said General Beckman. "Yes, of course you have a code name…I picked it myself…I'm so glad. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get your wife back…" She terminated the phone with extreme prejudice. Apparently Mr. Bartowski's well-known habit of blathering on in moments of crisis was contagious. Unlike Agent Charles, his brother-in-law was more informative with his blather.

Somehow the Omen had been released after all, and Vivian Volkoff was behind it. Chuck had taken his sister and his pregnant wife into danger, in a noble attempt to shock Miss Volkoff out of what they believed to be her guilt-stricken state, a romantic but probably misguided notion. Vivian Volkoff didn't strike Beckman as the type to be stricken by anything. If she'd once felt guilt for Ellie's near-death, she'd long since saddled it, bridled it, and ridden it down into some of the deeper pits of Hell.

There was no saving Vivian Volkoff, but Diane could understand the Bartowskis' collective need to try. Not to mention that it was a perfect opening for them to access the enemy's stronghold and find their missing people, of whom there was a depressingly large number. The only real question was, could she save her team?

And speaking of her team, what about Agent Miller? She was alone in CI with the prisoner behind a locked door. Would the Omen reach there? No, scratch that, _how soon_ would the Omen reach there?

She dialed Carina's number, but no one picked up. 'Aunt Diane' allowed herself one fleeting syllable of annoyance, and then Brigadier General Diane Beckman stiffened her spine. Fine. War it would be.

The first order of business in any case was to gather her forces, whatever she had, whatever she could get–Did she have anyone left outside the lion's den? Hannah was tech support, for God's sake!–and clear up the loose ends, such as this Mr. Carmichael. Alex McHugh would do for that, but of course for something of this magnitude Beckman would have to go through the proper channels. She pulled up her phone's call log to get the Director's line, and found Gertrude Verbanski's name sitting right at the top.

* * *

Hannah hovered uncomfortably around the edges of the office holiday party. In her experience, the stuffier the office culture, the more embarrassing the shenanigans when everybody decided to let their hair down all at once. Normally she would have skipped this one too, but her husband and the Hounds, not very stuffy themselves, liked to go and watch the meltdown.

Speak, or think, of the devil, and she saw his horns. "Dammit," he said, emerging from the crowd with a drink in his hand for her. No way she wanted to be anywhere near the bar in this crowd. She stayed instead by the giant hoagie, fairly certain that no one here would want anything to eat tonight, and so far she'd been right. "We just missed it."

"Missed what?" she asked, mildly curious. He'd been very vocal about most of what to expect, but this one thing he'd kept to himself, and she wanted to know, in spite of herself.

"Colonel Hayne," he said dramatically, looking a little miffed when she failed to react to his big reveal. "You know who–"

"I know who you're talking about, yes," said Hannah. "You call her Princess Bun." Behind her back, of course. She was the head of Internal Security, after all. If she got wind of his little nickname she could have him busted down to janitor.

"Yes," he said nervously, looking around for any of her people that might be within hearing distance, "Well, tonight's the one night she lets her hair down where anyone else can see it, but we've already missed it. Santa came early this year, and will again before too much longer, I'm thinking."

"You're gross," said Hannah, pushing him away. _A government office doing Christmas?_

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" he said, frowning into his glass. "Usually 'Santa' gets escorted from the premises–it's a whole shtick, you know?–but not before she throws herself at him."

Hannah looked over his shoulder as the waiting security guards suddenly stopped waiting. She wondered where they were going, and when the sudden splash of red and the loud "ho, ho, ho" caught her husband's attention, she indulged her curiosity.

Her husband turned. "Yeah, like that." But no one threw herself at him and the security forces were walking _away_. "That's not right," he said, turning back, but only his wife's untouched drink was still there. The napkin it sat on had the word 'Woof' written on it.

The Big Dog was on the prowl.

* * *

Vivian Volkoff sat on her throne as Decker personally–with the aid of as many of her men as she could gather–escorted the Woodcombe woman and her alleged brother from the room. "Well, Mrs. Agent Charles," she said, as her father so often had. "I'm not so foolish as to think that one pair of handcuffs makes you any less dangerous. Be aware that should anything happen to me, your husband, family, and friends will be instantly killed."

Sarah adopted a stance that would allow her to stand for a long while, since she doubted Vivian would send for a chair. "I'm aware of that."

"Good." The phone rang, and Vivian picked up. "Yes?...Robyn, dear, I was informed that you had been–the Omen, of course it did, a nice side-effect. And you've brought a guest, how lovely… That sounds very much like Agent Miller." Vivian watched Sarah's face closely as she passed on that bit of information. "Of course you can keep her, I'm sure she'll provide you with many hours of amusement later…No, I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment, and we'll all be very busy soon. With the Omen loose, other matters take precedence. Patience, dear. Just take her down to SpecOps, get her processed, and tuck her in with the others for now. There will be plenty of time for you to unwrap that present."

Vivian put down the phone, and said to the room at large, "A crude torturer, Lord knows my father would have had no use for her, but useful enough in her way." She smirked at Sarah. "So it certainly looks like _your_ gang's all here, plus one or two in addition." Then she put on an appearance of great distress. "But oh dear, it just occurred to me, that means there's no one left to rescue you. Well, whatever," she dismissed the problem with a wave of her fingers, "I suppose we'll just have to make do."

"If teasing operatives was gauche, what would your father have said about mocking your prisoners?" said Sarah.

Vivian moved like lightning and slapped Sarah across the face. "My father isn't here, and thanks to you he never will be again." She inspected her victim's cheek. "There, Agent Walker, a new set of stripes for you." She strolled back to her chair and enthroned herself. "Now then, what shall we talk about?" Vivian tapped her lips thoughtfully. "It occurs to me that we never finished our earlier conversation."

"I was quite finished with it."

"No doubt," said Vivian with a smile, "But you never answered my question. Which is more valuable to you, the glasses or your mother-in-law's life? Although at this point I suppose we've moved considerably up the food chain from Frost. Let's just call her…my opening bid."

* * *

The door to the cell block opened and Robyn pushed her unwilling guest forward. "Last stop, Red."

One cell had a little man in it, untethered, but so far the only damage he'd managed to do was to his bedding. He looked depressed.

The cell on the other side of the hall was pristine, but only because the big man occupying it was tethered, and the only damage he'd managed to do so far was to his own wrists. His glare was far more hostile, but equally ineffective.

The next cell up had a woman in it, also tethered, but this one hadn't wasted time or energy on useless attempts to free herself. She watched Robyn attentively, and Robyn watched back, knowing who she would shoot first if there was ever a breakout.

She hit the lock for the last cell and shoved her captive inside. "I think I'll leave those cuffs where they are," she said, spinning Carina about and pushing her down onto the barely-padded seat. She took a second pair of cuffs from her pocket and tethered Carina's feet instead. "I'll keep the third set for later."

Robyn left the cell and returned the older woman's measuring look, before walking away and leaving the two women to stare at each other. Let her measure _that_ for a while.

The second the door closed Carina freed her wrists and started working on her ankles.

"How are you doing that?" asked Mary.

"I'm very limber, and your son is very smart," said Carina, demonstrating her FRODO. "And she very isn't. Fortunately no one looked under my nails when they were taking my prints, and what was _that_ all about? What have we got so far?"

"Aside from ink on our fingers? Just Vivian and Decker, and a few goons," said Casey. "No guard down here, so she probably doesn't have that many."

"Probably relying on secrecy over force," said Mary. "And there's someone else. Decker spoke to someone over the phone when they brought me in and it wouldn't have been Vivian."

Lots of chiefs, few Indians. _Got it._ "Okay," said Carina, standing up and pocketing her metal. "We have to get out of these cells. Any ideas on how we can do that?"

"Ha!" shouted Manoosh, over the sound of his door opening. "Thought so."

* * *

"Hayne, huh?" Beckman's voice dripped with scorn. The woman was infamous.

"Yes, General," said Hannah. "They found her on level five…"

_The Omega level._ "Decker?"

"Yes, General, she was found in his office, on his desk. I heard them say she was drunk, but when she woke up she didn't remember leaving the party."

"So she was either _very_ drunk, more so than usual for that time of night, or…?"

"Or…the fake Santa got her down to level five and hit her with a Twilight dart."

Not drunk, then, or not _just_ drunk. "Was anything taken?"

"I don't know, General," said Hannah, who barely had enough clearance to be allowed on that level. If it hadn't been for her looks and the overall juiciness of the gossip when she chatted with the guard blocking that hall, she wouldn't have had even this much. "But if the place had been ransacked even a little, I think they'd have a different theory."

Whatever her year-end bonus was, it wasn't enough, thought Beckman. "So 'Santa' had to know what he wanted and where it was." Security would have responded in less than a minute.

The 'and we don't' came through loud and clear. That sounded like a research project. _Yes! _No more party. _Thank you, all ye gods of Christmahanakwanzika! _"I'm on it, ma'am."

* * *

Manoosh came out of his cell, and ran across the hall to hit the release for Casey's door. "Carina next, Watchman," said Casey, pulling against the chains. "She's got the keys."

When her door opened, Carina went to Casey while Manoosh opened Frost's cell. Once Frost was released, step two became the issue: climbing down this 'Triangulum's' throat and kicking their guts out from the inside. "You're sure about the air ducts?" said Casey.

Frost had seen Die Hard far too many times. "I'm sure about the machine guns." She gave the young nerd a fond maternal smile. "Manoosh says he can control this whole place if he had a computer. I'd like to test that theory."

Then her smile faded. "Manoosh? Where's your watch?"

* * *

In the monitoring station…

"I'm registering a fire alarm in the cell block," said the senior guard. "Alert Mr. Decker."

"Yes, sir," said the underling. After a few minutes of trying, he reported back. "Mr. Decker's not responding, sir. Neither is anyone on his team."

Above his pay grade, and he knew who paid him. "Alert Miss Volkoff, then." He had to escalate this to someone, even if she wasn't Ops.

* * *

Hannah's 'research project' went quickly. She just followed the flares.

"Macau?" said Beckman. "Not the bank, I trust."

"No, ma'am," said Hannah. "Clyde Decker's last mission before dropping off the grid was the investigation of a theft at a Chinese technology company, a device for compressing data. It was never recovered."

"I doubt that," said Beckman. It was just never returned. "So we have a device from Macau for compressing data, and a virus for erasing data, if you believe Decker about that."

"Do we?"

"No. I believe Chuck, who called the virus 'metamorphic', and reported that Vivian's agent made a number of adjustments to the delivery device before unleashing what she thought was the virus."

"The device altered the function of the virus?" said Hannah.

Hearing her surmise come out of Hannah's mouth bolstered Beckman's confidence in it by several orders of magnitude. "I believe so, but we need a more expert analysis to be sure."

"Most of the people here are pickled." If her husband's increasingly incoherent IMs were any sign.

'Best people' and 'CIA' weren't synonyms in Beckman's world. "This is more in the NSA line, Hannah, but I doubt even Dave has the capacity to analyze this in time. We need Chuck, or his father." Beckman looked around.

"Are you expecting something, ma'am?" asked Hannah.

The General sighed. "I guess it was too much to hope for, that he'd be listening in when I _wanted_ him to," she said. Just then her monitor went black.

KIND OF BUSY RIGHT NOW

* * *

"You know," said Vivian, "I believe I'm detecting a pattern here." She started ticking off her fingers. "You won't surrender the glasses to save Frost, or Colonel Casey, or Agent Miller. You won't surrender them to save your own life, or even your husband's life."

Sarah shifted her position slightly, to avoid stiffening up. "They'd understand."

"They're agents, of course they would understand," said Vivian. "The greater good, and all that. But it occurs to me that perhaps Agent Charles' supposed sister isn't an agent after all. Perhaps she really _is_ his sister, the resemblance was strong enough. And if that's the case–"

The phone rang, as if on cue for maximum threatening-ness.

Vivian held up a finger as she answered it. "Yes, what is it?...a fire alarm? Have you notified…no, of course you did." She sighed, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pistol, which she trained on Sarah. "First, lock down everything below this level. Second, send for your reinforcements…All of them, now. Third, when your additional forces arrive, investigate the alarm. Take an entire squad, no doubt you'll need them." Her father's motto. Contain, control, consider. "Fourth, detail someone to check between this room and SpecOps, and from SpecOps to the cell block. Just look for a pile of unconscious men, they shouldn't be too hard to find."

Sarah smiled, and Vivian cocked the pistol to make that smile go away. She ended the one call and started another. "Robyn, dear, could you join me in the main briefing room…?"

* * *

"Chuck, stop!"

Naturally, Chuck stopped, obedient as ever to his sister's commands. He still complained about them, however, as he raced back to her side, inside one of the burnt out and ruined rooms. "El, we can't stay here, I have to get you out. We promised Devon." He looked around. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It is if you're thinking it's an Intersect Room," said Ellie. "A blown-up one. One of their prototypes, do you think?"

"No," said Chuck. "A little while after you got engaged, they made a new one, but when they tried to bring it online it blew up instead. Fulcrum booby-trapped it."

Ellie left the room and crossed the hall. That's where the control room was in her facility, which was probably modeled on this one. "And they've just left it sitting here all this time?" she said, looking over the panels, and the instruments. "And Decker just happened to build his facility underneath?"

Chuck frowned thoughtfully. "He blew up the DARPA lab, too, didn't he?"

"Yes, to get all of you arrested." She knew that frown. "You think he had something else in mind?"

"I think those explosives would have been planted long before. Implicating us was just gravy. Sarah had already removed the glasses, and that's what they wanted. They'd tried to steal them themselves, and failed. Unless that was just a feint to set up the explosives…"

Ellie had no interest in tactics but she knew who did. "Chuck, we have to tell Diane. Those glasses can do everything that room across the hall can do. All they need to do is fix this room and they'll have a functioning Intersect."

"You can tell her, El, once I get you out of here," said Chuck, urging his sister out of the room. "But I don't think there's anything to worry about. After DARPA, Dad's been on the lookout for any new Intersect construction. He'd have warned us if there was anything like that happening."

"I hope so," said Ellie. "But this is a repair, not new construction. Do you think he'll notice?"

"Of course he will. Don't worry, sis, everything will be all right."

"Oh, now that's an entrance line if I ever heard one," said someone in the dark. Shadows walked out of the dark, men in dark combat suits, guns trained on them. Someone much more recognizable walked out after them.

"Santa?"

"Ho, ho, _no_," said Santa, reaching for his cap and his beard, leaving the tufted eyebrows in place. "I'd ditch the padding, if I could, but, you know–" he winked at her "–not wearing any." He flung up his hands in greeting. "Merry Christmas, Bartowskis," said Ted Roarke with his usual affability. "Miss me?"

* * *

**A/N2 Insert default "Reviews welcome" line here.**


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N **A long time ago we had a discussion on the CTB about villains, and I said that a villain should always be the person you expect least, out of all those in the show/episode. I wrote Mastermind as an example of that idea. Ted Roarke here is another.

Some people may complain that 'no one ever dies in the Chuck-verse', but that's not quite true here. In this story Shaw and Eve both died, and will stay dead. As for Roarke, rumors of his death in S2 would seem to be greatly exaggerated.

* * *

"I hope that hurt_."_

"What shall we talk about?_" _

"Perhaps she really is his sister_."_

"Miss me?_"_

* * *

"Ted Roarke?" asked Chuck, as the men supporting this bad Santa came up and took back all the weaponry he'd stolen. One of them tried to give Ellie a little 'pat down' and got a bloody nose for his trouble.

"See," said Ted to his squad, pointing at the injured man. "I knew that would happen." He turned back to his prisoners, and muttered, "Actually I didn't, but you always have to maintain an aura of infallibility with these guys." He put the beard and hat back on.

"Chuck, isn't he supposed to be dead?" said Ellie, shaking her hand. Carina had told her it would hurt but she hadn't said how much.

"'Supposed to be' is a little harsh, don't you think?" said Ted.

"Don't know, sis," said Chuck. They'd been on the beach at the time. "Casey said he was, and he was there."

"I'm still in the room, you know," said Ted, annoyed as always when he wasn't the center of attention. He got it back in the usual way, by issuing threats and barking orders. Or by barking threats and issuing orders, much the same thing. "Back inside, Bartowskis. You." He pointed at one of the goons. "Get some of the guys from SpecOps and make sure he didn't touch anything in there." The goon saluted and stepped into the ruined control room.

Chuck and Ellie had no choice but to turn and go back into the facility, herded along by a crowd of gun-toting thugs and pressed by a man in red. "'Casey was there', my fat ass," said Ted. "We worked with that Leader clown for years, and he really thought ahead, let me tell you. Guess it didn't work out so well for him when he ran into someone who thought sideways, but that's his problem. Or it was, right, Chuck?" Ted slapped Chuck on the back, for a job well done. "Anyway, we had to learn to think ahead, too, just to keep up. Saw his little purge attempt coming a mile away, so we got ready, but then we got _your_ purge attempt first. I had enough gizmos and prosthetics on me to fool your sister here _and_ her husband, and all I got was a dumb jarhead touching my neck. A damn shame."

Chuck had his own ideas on what the 'damn shame' of that whole scenario was, but he kept them to himself. "So you kept your life, but lost everything else, and then just buried yourself down here?"

"'Death' is just another name for 'opportunity', if you ask me," said Roarke. "Most people waste theirs, but not this kid. Other peoples' deaths are even better, I get a _lot_ of mileage outta those. As far as my fortune is concerned, you remember that back door I had programmed into the RIOS, don't you? I had all the funds I could ever need, until your father came along and started taking all those assets I stole from him, the thief. He walled me out, and would have noticed if I tunneled back in. That's why I had to turn to Vivian. I offered her a place in my new future, in exchange for helping her deal with her past. Which just happens to be _my_ past."

* * *

Downstairs…

"Your husband will not ruin our plans," said Vivian Volkoff. "Not this time. The most he can do is rescue you, or escape, and somehow I don't see him trying to escape. True love, how touching."

"It is, actually," said Sarah, "Although I doubt you know much about true love. I would do anything, make any sacrifice, to make him happy, and he would do the same for me."

"It looks to me like you're the sacrifice," noted Vivian, with a casual wave of her gun.

"Not at all," said Sarah calmly. "'True love' is my husband knowing what will make me happy, without him needing to ask or me needing to tell, and giving it to me."

_Break, damn you. _"Abandoning you to me makes you happy?"

Sarah shook her head. "He's taking care of my sister-in-law, the mother of my niece, the woman you almost killed. The woman who taught Chuck how to be the magnificent man that he is."

_So magnificent. _The gun fell out of line by a little bit, Vivian sat forward a little bit. "His real sister?" What a miracle she would have to be.

"Really really," said Sarah. "Practically his mother as well, with Frost trapped in Russia all those years. An endless fountain of faith, and hope, and charity. When she heard what had happened to you she insisted on coming here, in the hope that you would reach up from this pit you've dug for yourself, and let us help pull you out of it."

_Just thought you'd fill in that little hole, did you? _"Yet here _you_ are," said Vivian.

"I'm here to thank you," said Sarah, deliberately misinterpreting what the other woman said. "I almost lost him to the Ring before I could even tell him that I loved him, and it's only because of the Atroxium that I'm able to show him how much. Now, instead of years from now. So…thank you for that."

An enemy's gratitude? "You don't deserve him."

"No, I don't deserve him, I know that. I knew that long ago. And if you ask him, he'll tell you that he doesn't deserve me."

"No one deserves _you_," sneered Vivian.

Sarah ignored the dig. "What I didn't know until recently is that true love isn't about deserving, it's about trying to deserve, trying to be worthy. Growing toward him even as he's growing toward me, as best we can. It's not like true love comes with instructions, that would sort of defeat the purpose, I guess." Sarah took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh, looking at nothing in particular. "But a joystick would be nice."

"Agent Charles was perfect," said Vivian, to remind Sarah that she was still in the room.

Sarah shrugged. "Agent Charles _is_ perfect, but Agent Charles isn't my husband. Just a small and useful part."

"I meant Chuck."

"Chuck isn't perfect, and we're both glad of that," said Sarah with a smile. "What could I do for him if he was?"

Vivian's grip on her gun tightened. _What are you doing for him now?_ Someone tapped on the door. "Come," she said.

Robyn Cunnings opened the door. Her eyes widened with delight at the sight of yet another prisoner. "Oo, another one for us to play with."

"Agent Cunnings," said Vivian in an Arctic voice. "There are two wills in this room, and neither of them is yours. Is that understood?"

Robyn lost her smile. "Yes, Miss Volkoff. What can I do for you?"

"You can explain to me how we suddenly have a disturbance in our cell block, immediately after you put Agent Miller in it."

The 'oh, crap' was written in every line of Robyn Cunnings' body. She slumped, slightly but submissively, very conscious of the gun in her boss' hand. "I don't know, Miss Volkoff. She was restrained, wrists and ankles."

"You searched her, of course."

"Yes, ma'am. I found a key in a hidden pocket at her back."

Vivian glanced at Sarah. "Check this one."

* * *

Further downstairs, a prybar of sorts dug into the wall behind a locking plate, prying the cover off, exposing the electronics underneath to a clever mind and nimble fingers. Small nimble fingers.

"Cool," said Carina, examining the mangled fake nail on her finger. It was the inert one, the safe one, that was supposed to let her call for an elevator of use a phone without blowing herself up. "Didn't think that would work." Have to tell Chuck about it.

Mary was more concerned with Manoosh at work. "Can you do it?" she asked, as he pulled at the wiring.

"Of course I can do it," scoffed Manoosh.

"I mean, without flashing?"

Manoosh looked up at his mo–I mean, at Mary Bartowski, with a grin. "I don't have to flash for this," he said. "Air ducts, maybe, but _this?_ I do this–" pinch, splice "–for–" grunt, twist "–fun!" The door opened. "See?"

"I see," said Mary. "I'm impressed." She pulled the door open and they all went through. As she thought, it was a stairwell, right about where she expected it to be.

"Why is it so cold in here?" asked Casey.

Carina went down a flight to look down. "There's ice down there."

* * *

"Ah-ha!" said Robyn triumphantly, her fingers running along the waist at the back of Sarah's pants. She held up the little key she found for her employer to see. "Just like the other one." She walked over and laid the key down on the table.

_Hmm_. Vivian barely glanced at it. "No."

Robyn frowned. "It's right there. What do you mean, 'no'?"

Vivian put the gun back in the drawer. "Oh, it's clever enough, I'll grant you that," she said, walking up to stare her opponent in the face. "But it's hardly Agent Charles' style. Wouldn't you agree, Sarah?"

"So what's his style?" said Robyn belligerently, bored by the staring contest.

"He's subtle," said Vivian. She took a step around Sarah, looking her up and down. "Elegant." She moved around behind, one finger keeping Sarah from turning with her. "Insidious," she hissed into Sarah's ear. "He's made treachery an art form, turning the simplest and most obvious things into–"

"Into what?" asked Robyn, into Vivian's sudden silence.

"Agent Walker," said Vivian into Sarah's other ear, "Would you kindly unclench your fists, please?"

* * *

Mary took a look. "Interesting."

"I don't like the sound of that," muttered Casey. They'd taken his coat.

"I don't know what you're so chicken about," said Manoosh, also coatless, wrapping his arms around himself. "You've got gigantothermy on your side."

Casey looked confused. "Isn't that for dinosaurs?"

Manoosh grinned. "Hey, you said it, not me." Casey snarled and raised a fist, something else he had on his side.

"Manoosh?" said Mary.

The nerd dodged around Carina to get to her side. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Stop teasing the T-Rex. You and Carina are going to go up, Colonel Casey and I will go down. Let her do the fighting and for God's sake don't flash."

That SpecOps place was upstairs. He'd woken up in his cell, and hadn't seen it, but they'd sure made it sound like a paradise for someone like him. "Tech support only, yes, ma'am."

"Good boy. Colonel, let's get going."

Casey growled on his way past, and Manoosh once again dodged around the redhead.

Carina rolled her eyes. "Fine, follow me," she said, as the other half of the team descended. She took a step up, and paused. "You're staring at my ass, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," squeaked Manoosh. It wasn't his fault she was so tall.

"Good," she said, taking another step up. "At least that way I know where you are."

* * *

One clipping of ten fingernails later…

"What an interesting assortment," said Vivian, poking at the various items as they lay upside-down on her tabletop, displaying their hidden virtues. "I dare say this is how Agent Miller escaped so quickly," she said, pushing the key-bearing nail off to one side.

"And the rest?" asked Robyn, reaching out to touch one.

Vivian slapped her down. "I don't know, and I'm not so foolish as to try and find out. That's what SpecOps is for."

The room's landline buzzed.

"Well, speak of the Devil," said Vivian. She hit the speaker button. "What is it?"

"The latest trial has failed, ma'am. I knew you'd want to know right away."

"You thought correctly." She glanced at Sarah. "How many samples do you have?"

"Just the three, now."

"Ah, the latest ones haven't made their way down to you." The doors opened without warning, pushed by two goons, and Vivian turned her frown on them. Framed in the opening were Agent Charles and his sister, with a man in a red fur suit standing behind them.

"Ho, ho, ho," said Ted Roarke, and he held up a small black box. "I've got a present for a naughty little girl."

Project Santa was successful. Her frown turned upside-down, as if he'd brought her tree, lights, presents, and all. She lifted the handset and said, "We'll be along momentarily."

* * *

"Manoosh, I can't go in there, they'll recognize me," said Carina. "They fingerprinted as all when we came in." She held out her hand.

Manoosh checked his own fingers. No ink smudges. "Why not me?" He looked up at her. "Now I have to go. Why you and not me? That's a clue, it has to be."

Carina ran a nervous hand through her hair. The little guy was right, but she was supposed to protect him. "What good will it do us if you find out and then someone makes you flash and you die?"

"In there?" asked Manoosh. "They're geeks, Agent Miller. What are they gonna do to me?"

"They'll hit you with some geek torture I won't even understand, that's what scares me," said Carina.

Suddenly they heard a commotion, as lots of the geeks in question left the lab area all in a clump.

"Time to go, said Manoosh, and before she could stop him he was walking into the lab as if he owned the place. Unfortunately, he recognized most of it. Half the room looked like Ellie's control station, but there didn't seem to be any place to perform the encryption.

The other stuff was more interesting, scanning and digitizing equipment, plugged into a small box that looked like a camera. He walked over that way casually, but not casually enough.

Another tech walked out of an office carrying some papers, the only one left in the lab it seemed. "Who are you?"

Manoosh stopped. "Um…new guy," he said.

"I've never seen you around here."

"That's because I'm new," said Manoosh, and he added, "I've been stuck down in the cold room since yesterday."

The other guy shuddered. "No wonder." He moved to stand in between Manoosh and the camera thingie. "What are you doing up here? The flasher is off-limits."

Manoosh looked back where he was going. "Who cares? I was trying to get some coffee, tea, anything warm." He headed over to the coffee dispenser, located at the end of that station.

The guy let him go. "What's wrong with the coffee in the cold room?"

"It's cold." Manoosh put his hands on the pot, imagining they were ice cubes.

That got a laugh. "Yeah, I'll bet. Alright, help yourself, but don't touch anything." He sat at the lab bench by the flasher, just to make sure, but otherwise ignored the new guy.

Manoosh made himself some tea, and waited until the boss guy looked like he was busy. "Where is everybody?"

"Upstairs, in the old lab. They had a breach," said the boss in a distracted tone. "They're bringing in all the guards again, too, won't that be fun…"

Manoosh looked back at the far door, and sure enough, Carina was there, looking conflicted. He pointed up. She pointed at him, and then at the floor. Manoosh tried to give her a thumbs-up, but she ducked out of sight first. Uh-oh.

The boss turned just as Manoosh 'accidentally' spilled hot tea on himself. "God-_dammit_!" he shouted, flipping his hands and making a bigger scene out of it. "That's hot."

The boss laughed. "Yeah, it is when the whole floor isn't twenty below."

Manoosh tried to smile. "Paper towels?"

"Over there."

Manoosh got a bunch of towels and started mopping up his own mess, looking around as best he could until a crowd of people came into the lab, and then he kept his face down just because.

"You," said a woman with an English accent.

The manager jumped to his feet. "Yes, Miss Volkoff?"

* * *

On the other side of the room…

"We have three more samples for your flasher trials. Process them now."

"Yes ma'am. Bring them over here," he directed the guards, who pushed Chuck, Ellie, and Sarah over to the far end of the lab bench with the flasher on it.

As he started taking their fingerprints, a task made difficult by the fact that they were all cuffed, Vivian noticed another lab tech mopping the floor. She directed Robyn Cunnings his way, and that's where the belligerent blonde went.

"You."

* * *

Manoosh stood up, paper towels dripping, trying to look as small and pathetic as he could, which was quite a lot when he tried. "Yes, uh, Miss?" he asked, not having to work at the tremor in his voice.

She threw a bag at him, full of little plastic chips or something, and he dropped the towels on his shoes trying to catch it. "Miss Volkoff wants to know what all these are and what they do. Now."

Manoosh circular-filed the towels, and shuffled off to find a flat surface out of sight where he could listen and pretend to work, already knowing what every broken off nail in the bag did.

* * *

At the back of the room…

"Check this out," said Ted Roarke, forcing his unwilling guests over to the control station, once they were done. "You Bartowskis must recognize this, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm a Woodcombe, so how about you explain it to me," said Ellie. The little guy in the corner turned to look.

"Alright, I will," said Ted, who appreciated any opportunity to hear himself talk. "This is your father's greatest invention, the Intersect, acquired for us by our friends in the Collective before they suffered their total existence failure. This is the device that will make it possible for us to, dare I say it, rule the world."

"Then it's not my father's invention."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't. My father's inventions are meant to help people, not hurt them. He only wanted to help people learn more, know more." She dragged a hand around to point one sharp finger at him. "You've taken his work and made it into something it wasn't and should never have been. You'll pay for that."

"Guards. Take her away," ordered Ted, with an arrogant wave.

"I won't forget," said Ellie, as the guards pulled her backward. "You'll wish you never heard the name 'Bartowski'!"

"Wow. And they call _me_ melodramatic," Roarke stage-whispered to Chuck.

Robyn watched Ellie go with amusement, until she noticed the lab geek looking at her too, and whacked him on the head. "Stop staring at her ass."

* * *

In the front of the room…

"Ah, Mr. Decker, Mr. Delgado, you're just in time," said Vivian, jovial now that they'd managed to miss almost everything of importance. "Mr. Roarke? We're about to make another trial."

"I'm supposed to get excited?" asked Decker.

"You should," said Vivian. "I predict that this one will be the last." She gestured to the tech to proceed as the audience gathered.

The tech opened the safe where a small box was kept at all times. On the front of the box was a little rectangle of glass, and he attached the flasher unit so that it covered the glass. "Here we go," he said, pressing the button on the top of the flasher.

"What is that?" said Ellie.

"The box is locked with a fingerprint," said the tech. "The flasher is loaded with a selection of fingerprints, and it flashes them against the lock in various positions. The FBI does the same thing with numbers and combination locks."

"What's in the box?"

"No idea. We were just told to open it." After a minute or so the box beeped, and the tech reached out to stop the flasher. He took it off carefully, and lifted the lid of the box. "Ta-daa."

Ellie looked inside, and saw a rack of sunglasses.

"Excellent work," said Vivian, who didn't know the man's name. "You and your team have all earned your Christmas bonuses." She didn't wait for him to stammer out his gratitude. "Mr. Roarke, what is the current estimate to the completion of the Omen virus?"

* * *

IT'S NOT A VIRUS, PER SE

"Then what is it?" asked General Beckman.

IT'S A FILE MOVER

THE VIRUS PART IS JUST TO

TAKE OVER ENOUGH DISK SPACE

FOR THE FILES TO MOVE TO

"What files?" asked the General.

GOVERNMENT

FINANCIAL

MILITARY

"So this is a coup?"

WE'LL KNOW SOON

SATURATION IS ALMOST COMPLETE

* * *

Manoosh stumbled downstairs, dragooned into carrying the damn box because the tech boss said he was posted to the cold room anyway and why not. The guards surrounded and/or separated Chuck, Sarah, and Ellie, with Tommy paying special attention to Ellie. All that meant was that he ended up surrounded by and trying to keep up with Roarke, Vivian, and Decker, all taller than him and impatient for their moment of triumph.

"Coats!" said Ted Roarke when they reached the last landing, and everyone, captive and captor alike, put on some cold-weather gear.

"What's this for, Roarke?" asked Chuck.

"It's so you don't freeze to death before we kill you, brainless," said Roarke. "You may have noticed it's cold down here? Otherwise the whole system could fry."

Chuck tried not to look at Ellie. "How much data would it take to fry the Intersect? Who could hold all of that?"

"Who said anything about the Intersect, Agent Charles?" said Vivian. "The Intersect is merely a part of this, just as the Omen is merely a part."

"You think it was all coincidence?" said Decker. "The Intersect, Fulcrum, the Ring, Volkoff - It was all part of the plan, Bartowski. Pieces on the puzzle board, and this is the endgame." He waved to Ted Roarke, standing by the door with the handle in his hand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Project Omaha."

* * *

**A/N2 **They never did bother to explain what Project Omaha was all about. It was just a name that became synonymous with the Intersect and eventually faded away. I found myself wondering if the fell and dark purposes Decker spoke of at the end of S4 might be related to this Project, and here we are.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N **I thought this was a long chapter, but the finale of season 1 was a bit longer, so what the hell.

* * *

"_Isn't he supposed to be dead?"_

"_Why is it so cold in here?" _

"_Process them now."_

"_Welcome to Project Omaha."_

* * *

Ted Roarke opened the door, but of course he immediately handed it off to an underling so that he could be the first one through. The guards fanned their prisoners out behind the three members of the Triangulum, as they advanced in a wedge. Manoosh was sort of lost in the middle, and that was just fine with him.

"I'm surprised you're not filming this," said Chuck. With slo-mo effects and a wind machine for the ladies' hair. Especially Sarah, he thought in a purely unbiased way. Sarah would look good with wind-machine hair.

"You know, I just thought the same thing myself," said Ted. With slo-mo effects but no wind machine, because that doesn't mean so much when you're bald. "So thanks for making me feel like a schmuck, Chuck."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me–"

"You know, in this room those cuffs get real cold real fast," said Roarke. "Be a real shame if we had the put 'em back on you for, oh, any reason, really. Don't you think?"

Chuck smiled real wide. "Yes, Ted. Thank you, Ted."

Decker shook his head. "Pitiful."

Vivian looked at the room, full of harsh white light, machines, and pipes leading into a pit in the middle of the floor. "What, exactly, is the connection to Omaha?"

"None," said Decker. "Names like that are chosen at random."

"Shows what you know about names, _Clyde_," said Decker. "I'm guessing you've never been to Omaha in winter?" He reached a podium with a control panel, and they stopped. "It's dangerous to get too close, without more gear, but I really want you to see this for yourselves."

"What, a hole?" asked Ellie.

"No, what's _in_ the hole." Roarke lifted a microphone from the podium. "Up periscope."

Something in the hole made a noise, as a shiny tube rose slowly above the level of the floor. The tube appeared to be full of water or some other liquid, and as it rose higher they could see something in the liquid, a human shape held vertically. "Stop there," said Roarke in the mike, and the noise stopped, the tank moving no higher. "No need for the full monty."

"Who is that?" asked Ellie.

Roarke chuckled, and flipped a switch on the console. A light mounted at the edge of the pit went on, illuminating the man's face.

"Oh my God," whispered Sarah. "Bryce."

* * *

Carina hated what she was doing, which was nothing. Nothing pro-active, anyway. When that guy said they were bringing back all the guards he really meant _all_ the guards. Far too many for a one-woman guerilla force like her, even after Charlie Team had gone off to report to Miss Volkoff for special duty. Probably looking for her and the rest of _her_ team. For a moment she worried about Manoosh, but a geek–no, give him his due–a _nerd_ in a lab was like a pig on a farm, invisible, probably the safest of all of them.

Until circumstances changed, she merely observed, counting the men and their weapons, their dispersements, knowing that intel would be useful later, one way or another. Hopefully _some_one on the outside was looking for them, but she wouldn't count on that.

* * *

"Bryce Larkin?" said Ellie.

"Yeah," said Sarah. How many Bryces could one spy know?

"Isn't he dead?"

"Two years, now," said Chuck, staring at his friend's face. They hadn't even bothered to close his eyes.

"Doesn't look it, does he?" said Ted. "As pretty as the day he died, the vain little bastard. Got him chilled down right quick." He lifted the mike again. "Down periscope."

"What's he floating in?" said Chuck as the body descended.

"Liquid helium," said Ted. He waved his hands. "We keep it this cold up here so the compressors don't have to work so hard to keep it really cold down there. It's inefficient as hell but we can't go spewing supercold air in the streets of DC, now can we? The air in the hole would kill us before we reached the bottom. The guys down there use _space suits_."

"There are people down there?"

"There've been people down there every hour of every day since he died. Bryce Larkin's death was not an opportunity I was going to let go to waste." Roarke grinned. "And of course there are some nifty perqs. I just love to look at those six-pack abs of his," he said, patting his belly with both hands. "Lot of good they did you!" he shouted at the hole. He walked away from the pit, toward a door and a control room of some sort. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"In what way?" asked Vivian.

"After all those months leading us around in circles as the Intersect 1.0," said Roarke, one finger circling in the air, "After dying, trying to destroy the Intersect 2.0, Bryce Larkin, or more specifically Bryce Larkin's _brain_, will become the Intersect 3.0, something no living human could hope to do." He laughed. "Let Orion and his search engines try to find _that_ computer."

* * *

"What happened, Colonel?" asked Mary, checking the wound carefully. The stairwell was still cold, but not as cold as the place they'd just come from. They mounted the stairs slowly, so they wouldn't have to breathe too deeply of the quickly warming air. The few minutes they'd allowed themselves to be in that killing cold would take a long time to recover from, time they didn't have.

"I tried to climb up on one of the machines, get a look inside the pit, but the fitting I was standing on snapped. I must have hit it as I fell, I didn't feel it until after."

Mary paused on the landing to take a better look. "I'm surprised it's not bleeding more."

"I took the metal end of the hose, and pressed it against the wound," said Casey, his tone not revealing any part of the agony such a self-cauterization must have caused. "Couldn't afford to leave a blood trail."

"Still, you left some blood behind," said Frost. "We have to keep moving. Did you manage to see anything?"

He shook his head, grunting in pain as he took another step. "Just a cylinder of some kind, with a lot of wires plugged into it."

* * *

"Vincent!" bellowed Roarke, as soon as they got into the much warmer air of the booth. He flipped the hood off his head, doffed the coat, and threw it toward a hook on the wall, but he missed. Everyone else followed his lead.

"Right here, Mr. Roarke," said his man-at-arms and Chief Doer of Things, Vincent Smith.

"Of course you are," said Roarke. "What's the status?"

Vincent stepped back from the screen he'd been using. "We have a minor problem with one of the compression units, sir. The virus is at 96% saturation. We have the backup screens installed and ready to go." He pointed to the other end of the booth.

"We won't need them, Vincent," said Roarke, gesturing dismissively. "We've successfully retrieved the glasses Agent Walker here tried to keep from me. Us."

Vincent turned his calm, watchful expression on the three people surrounded by guards, and drew his pistol. "Against the wall."

"And make sure they're cuffed," said Vivian. She pointed at Sarah. "Especially that one."

Vincent looked to Roarke for confirmation of the order.

"You heard the lady, but don't shoot them yet, Vincent. I promised Miss Volkoff they could see us take over the world before they died, and how would it be if we failed to keep that promise?"

"Unprofessional, sir."

"Exactly. Bring me the glasses, the little guy has them." While his chief minion was off getting his hands dirty, Ted displayed the fruits of 'his' genius to his partners, even going so far as to plug in the cables for the glasses himself.

Once Vincent took the box, he pushed the little tech in with the other prisoners. He'd been tasked to eliminate everyone in the room upon completion of the project anyway. He was less than pleased to find Tommy standing there already, staring at the brunette woman. He shoved the little guy in front of her by way of warning, not that Tommy Delgado took subtle hints. Or any other kind.

"Ladies first," said Roarke, as Vincent left the box and turned to keep an eye on both the prisoners and Mr. Delgado. "Which would you like, Vivian? Black, black, or perhaps this pair, in a more fashionable black?"

Vincent let Chuck watch over his shoulder as they each took a pair of glasses from the box, and attached them to the cables. Sarah watched Robyn.

"We're at 99%," said Roarke. "Places, everybody." Vincent raised his weapon. Robyn did not.

* * *

WE'RE OUT OF TIME, GENERAL

No miracles today. Beckman raised her phone. "Go."

* * *

"Blow it," said Gertrude Verbanski, and the front door to the ruined facility blew inward. "Alpha team, move in!"

* * *

"We're under attack," said Decker, pointing at a monitor as an alarm sounded.

"Let them," said Vivian. "My men are ready and waiting."

"We're at 100%," said Ted. "In two minutes we'll have the world as our hostage." He initiated the transfer.

Out in the world, all the all the bits and bytes, packets and parcels that had been the currency of war, diplomacy, and finance made their final jumps to their last home. The computers upstairs took the data, encrypted it, and fed it to the machines down below.

Down in the pit, the temperature rose steadily as the computers struggled to process the flow into the Intersect 3.0, the brain of Bryce Larkin.

In the booth, the members of the Triangulum watched as the progress bar slowly climbed to 100%. All the data in the world, soon to be in their hands and minds alone.

The program completed, a nice big green 'Complete' flashing on the screen. "Finally," said Ted Roarke, removing his set from the cables. He put on his glasses, and Decker followed suit.

Vivian hesitated. Hydra was in there, somewhere, but…this was how her father had died. Yet, Agent Charles had had no opportunity to cause mischief, not this time. Whoever her 'Agent X' would eventually, inevitably, be, it couldn't be him. Not _this_ time, not ever. She put on her glasses and turned, to let the Agents Charles witness her moment of triumph.

Her gaze fell on the little tech standing between that Ellie person and Mr. Delgado. She knew him, remembered a little man who broke her window and ruined her trap. He'd saved Frost. She'd lost Quinn and the Norseman because of him. Her eyes widened.

_Upload Initiated._

* * *

Carina heard the explosion, and the movement of feet as trained troops advanced into the facility.

She also saw the armed men in their carefully chosen positions take cover. Whoever was coming in would be slaughtered, and she was on the wrong side of the room. She couldn't warn them without getting killed herself.

* * *

For a world-stealing upload, it sure didn't last very long. In much less than two minutes Ted sank to his knees, while Vivian and Decker fell to the floor completely.

Tommy heard them fall and turned to look. With his master unable to hold them back, his natural urges took over, and he pointed his gun at Ellie, pulling the trigger.

* * *

Manoosh flashed. Again. And again. Time slowed and stopped, the only moving thing being the bullet as it left the barrel, but Manoosh's thoughts moved faster. He tried to move, his body sluggish and resistant, but he forced it to do what he desperately needed it to do. His hand came up, cupping the bullet, and he turned in place.

* * *

Chuck could only watch as Tommy moved, but Manoosh seemed to…flicker, and suddenly Tommy's head exploded and he fell. Vincent stared, and Chuck seized the moment, head-butting him in the face.

Robyn seized her moment, too, and Sarah as well, dragging Chuck's wife to the door and pushing her outside into the cold. Robyn grabbed a coat and followed, putting it on outside. "Looks like you forgot something, Agent Charles."

Manoosh fell to the ground, and Ellie followed him, covering his body with her own. She could feel him twitching, his breathing labored and uneven, and raised herself up. "Manoosh?"

He looked at her, he had that much control.

"You flashed?"

He nodded, just a little.

"But–?" _Why?_ "You knew it would kill you."

Manoosh tried to raise a hand.

Ellie seized it and pressed it to her cheek. "I'm so sorry." His finger twitched against her palm. She let go, and he pointed. Ellie looked at the fallen villains, and back to him.

"Aw…aw…"

"Orion?" said Ellie. "My father did this?"

* * *

Flashback, not too long before…

"_You'll wish you never heard the name 'Bartowski'!"_

"_Stop staring at her ass."_

He wasn't staring at her ass, he was staring at her fingers.

"_Mr. Roarke? We're about to make another trial."_

With everyone up front Manoosh looked where Ellie had pointed. His bag, the stuff he'd brought with him to Bale's place! He rummaged through it, coming up with a flash drive with a special program on it, that would connect to Orion no matter what computer it was on. Orion called it the Happy Puppy. Since Manoosh had planned to scope the place out, look for Chuck, and take the cores, the stick had ended up in the bottom of the bag, under his tools.

He went over to the control console and plugged it in. He went back to his hidden vantage point, in case anyone should look his way, until the screen lit up with some text.

MANOOSH?

He went back and typed as quietly as he could. _Here. We need Ellie's Intersect code._

SHE HATES THAT CODE

_She's been captured too._

_Orion?_

WHAT'S THE WORD?

Manoosh hoped he was guessing right. If not, she was going to kill him. _Bartowski._

* * *

Back in the present…

Manoosh relaxed, his breathing shallow, his fingers pressing against her cheek with his last strength.

She felt it when that strength failed. "Oh, Manoosh!"

Something grabbed her by the neck and pulled.

* * *

Meanwhile, outside…

Sarah kept her breathing shallow in the frigid air. "I've got one thing you haven't got."

"What's that?" said Robyn, coming closer. "A pair of handcuffs?" She shrugged. "Not exactly an asset out here. Or did you mean the ten short fingernails?"

"I've got a husband who loves me," said Sarah.

Robyn walked up and punched her. "I can fix that."

Sarah punched her back. "And he made sure I had a third key, bitch!" Robyn came back stupid, and walked right into a kick. Sarah didn't let up, beating her enemy across the floor. "And another thing. The FRODO only has _nine_ fingers." She joined her hands, and pulled off the ring on the third finger of her left hand. "Plus the Ring of Doom."

She squished the ring between her fingers and pounced on her dazed enemy, forcing her fingers into Robyn's mouth, shoving the ring down her throat. With a final kick, she sent Robyn tumbling over the edge of the pit. The bomb froze before it could go off, but that didn't help Robyn much.

* * *

Upstairs, Carina could hear Gertrude's men, almost at the turn of the corridor, ready to enter the shooting gallery. She checked her nine, making sure the path was clear to her exit. When she heard the booted feet enter the corridor she launched herself to the left.

* * *

Downstairs, Sarah lurched to the podium, snatching up the mike. Her vision blurring, she changed the setting to allcall.

* * *

Carina shouted out, "It's a trap!" just as Sarah's voice came out of the speakers. "Gertrude! Butterfly!" Everyone on Gertrude's team dropped to their knees when they heard the code phrase, as Vivian's mercenaries rose and opened fire.

* * *

Casey heard the sound of combat and threw himself forward, popping out of the stairwell just in time to catch Carina, bleeding at the hip. "Miller! You're wounded."

"Thanks, Casey," gasped Carina, as they dragged her to a safer position. "Never would have figured that out on my own."

When some of Verbanski's men returned fire, Casey lifted his head. "What the hell? They're firing beanbag rounds." He opened the door to the stairwell.

"Colonel?" said Frost. "You're wounded too. Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go do something before all of her men get killed."

"Casey!" gasped Carina.

"What is it, Miller?" In quick short sentences Carina laid out the positioning and weaponry of the men on both sides of the hall, and Casey nodded when she finished. "Good intel, soldier." He shuffled down the hall at his best speed, ducking into the same room Carina had just tried to duck out of.

Too many of Vivian's men were downstairs playing hide-and-seek. The placement of the men was intended to cover all paths with a minimum of firepower, which in this case meant that the guy Casey jumped on first had no one to immediately back him up when he went down. By the time one of them had shifted appropriately Casey had stunned the man and taken his weapon, bringing it up just as merc #2 brought his down, and both weapons went _click!_

Casey grinned. He loved the Aegis, but for all the wrong reasons. He charged his new enemy, the gun held like a shield, and rammed him into the wall, bludgeoning him into unconsciousness.

"Codes!" shouted one of the other men, and the remaining mercs changed the setting on their own weapons to one Casey didn't know, leaving him vulnerable.

"Casey," shouted Gertrude, her men targeting the other half of the crossfire.

He looked up, and she tossed him a weapon, but not just any weapon. The grip fell into his hand, his finger curled around the trigger, like they had been fitted for each other since birth, which in a sense they had been. "Gladys." With single shots and perfect accuracy he cleared the room of hostiles, all of them standing there like idiots trying to change their damn codes.

"Sarah was right," said Gertrude. "She missed you."

* * *

Sarah was trying to breathe. The walk from the podium to the booth was the longest she'd ever taken, her muscles refusing to obey her, barely able to see or breathe. She felt the door handle and fell into the room when it opened to her fumbling hand.

Chuck did not immediately help her to stand, that was her first warning. His voice saying "Give it up, Smith" was her second.

Sarah braced herself against the floor, but verticality was beyond her. Chuck stood with his back to her, one cuff dangling but guns in both hands. Vincent Smith stood across the room, holding Ellie by the neck with a gun to her head.

"It's your choice, Agent Charles," said Smith. "You can kill me, but I will kill her first. Or you can give me safe passage, and we can all walk out of here like civilized professionals."

Sarah looked at Roarke, since a man like Smith would never betray his employer. He was still on his knees, watching the two men haggle with an amiable grin on his face, but he didn't seem to understand he was being betrayed.

"You will release your hostage, and safe your weapon," said Chuck. Asking a man like Smith to surrender his weapon was obviously a non-starter.

Vincent nodded. "I will. You have my word."

"Then I will grant you safe passage. You have my word."

"I accept your word." Vincent Smith released Ellie, and put his weapon away. Chuck did the same, as Ellie ran not to him but to Sarah.

Sarah looked her sister-in-law's face, the tears streaking her cheeks. "Manoosh?" she whispered.

Ellie shook her head, taking refuge in whatever degree of medical care she could give. She twisted a gold ring off one of the fingers of her right hand, and put Sarah's wedding ring back where it belonged. Medicinal enough, under the circumstances.

Sarah looked at it gratefully. "Roarke?" said Sarah more loudly, her voice raw.

At the sound of his name, Roarke looked at her. "Do I know you?" he asked.

* * *

"Coming out!" said Chuck.

"Hold fire," said Gertrude, and the door opened. Chuck came first, with Vincent behind him and Sarah after that. Ellie had chosen to wait below, with her patients. And Manoosh.

"Make a hole," said Chuck. "I've given this man my word that he will have safe passage out of here."

"You can't be serious, Chuck," said Casey, recognizing Roarke's most capable agent. "He's Fulcrum."

Gertrude had no idea what Fulcrum was but she was always willing to back up Casey. "It doesn't sound like a good idea."

Chuck pulled out one of his guns, not a real threat, just…emphasis. "No one touches this man without going through me first," he said firmly. "Is that clear?"

What was clear was that Casey and Verbanski weren't happy with his decision, even as they stepped aside. "Make way," said Verbanski, and all her men stepped aside, pulling their prisoners with them.

* * *

Hours later, at Casa Woodcombe…

"Agent Charles," said General Beckman. "What were you thinking, letting a criminal like Smith go?"

Chuck watched his sister, sitting with Clara in her arms, and Devon on one side and his mother on the other. Sarah was curled up next to him with a hot water bottle, a blanket, and him to keep her warm. "Only what I had to do, General. Smith was just a minion, when all's said and done. With Roarke out of the picture he was harmless." And hopefully more careful in his choice of employers, in the future.

"And what happened to Mr. Roarke and his fellow conspirators?" As well as his other minions and employees, all of whom were now safely in custody.

"I don't know, General," said Chuck. "They got the upload and collapsed. Maybe all that data was too much, even for three brains."

"Possibly, Mr. Bartowski, but since the data, with one notable exception, seems to be back where it belongs, I doubt that."

"Where it belongs, General?" asked Sarah.

"What's the exception?" asked Casey, shifting his position cautiously. He and Carina had both been treated by the Verbanski's corpsmen and then more fully by Devon, but he'd skipped the pain killer.

"The virus targeted government, military, and financial records," said Beckman. "While no one is willing to say what was in those records, preliminary audits indicate that none are actually missing, with the notable exception of any and all source code for the Intersect program itself."

Everyone sat up straight at that news, except Carina. "The Intersect is gone?" asked Chuck.

"Just as well, if you ask me," said Casey, sticking his unlit cigar in his mouth. "Nothing but trouble."

Sarah snuggled deeper against her husband's chest, and he tightened his grip around her. Not _nothing_ but trouble.

"I doubt the Congressional Committee that will soon be asking me where their billion-dollar investment has gone will agree with that assessment, Colonel."

"You can point out that the Intersect, as part of Project Omaha, was created and nursed along by a terrorist group, aiming at a global coup, General," said Chuck. "We're lucky we got some good use out of it before it blew up in their faces, however that happened."

"'Luck' is also not a word Committees like to hear, Mr. Bartowski." Beckman sighed. "But it may have to do in this case. I will keep you informed of any new developments." The screen went black.

"All right, Bartowski," said Casey, but the TV chimed at them again, and he waited.

The screen lit up, barely, with a man rendered in grayscale. "I thought she'd never leave," said Stephen Bartowski.

"Dad?"

"Did you delete the code, Stephen?" asked Mary.

"No, I didn't, but as soon as I saw what was happening I got rid of my own, not that they'll ever believe that," said Orion. "It's caused our entire family a lot of trouble. Just as well it took them out too."

"You don't have to lie, Dad," said Ellie. She looked at Chuck, at everybody. "I did that."

"_We_ did that, Eleanor," said her father. "You, me, and Manoosh. I couldn't have substituted your code without his assistance, and he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't thought that's what you wanted."

"I did want it, Dad," said Ellie, angry and upset. "I was angry, and upset, and desperate, so I used the only weapon I had. The fact that you and Manoosh enabled me doesn't make it any less my fault."

Everybody looked at everybody else. 'Ellie' and 'weapon' didn't go in the same sentences. "What weapon was that, sis?" asked Chuck.

Ellie looked up, at Casey, with tears in her eyes. "You once asked me, long ago, if the Intersect could ever be used to delete." She wiped her eyes, but there were more tears where those came from. "The answer is 'yes'."

* * *

**A/N2 **So that's it for the Triangulum, and the Decker Conspiracy that should have been so much more than it was. I've had this idea floating around in my head since the middle of my last season, which is when I wrote the prequel episode, where Casey asks about using the Intersect to delete. That was one of the main reasons I was able to write the prequel at all, that I was able to put in plot elements there that would come to fruition much later in the course of the story I was still writing. The idea to use Bryce's brain as the last Intersect computer is almost as old.

I was pretty unhappy about Manoosh, I didn't want him to die, but I didn't want Orion to die in canon either. Since someone had to die (and a few more had to be wounded to make the scenario plausible) I decided to let Manoosh go out in a blaze of glory.

Speaking of still writing, I've got one more episode to go, the capper to this whole series. I'm actually not sure what to call it, so if you've got any ideas I'd love to hear them. I've got 'Finale', 'Finally', 'Fallout', and 'And in the end…' so far. Feel free to suggest new ones or just vote for one of those. Thanks in advance. With Christmas and New Year's Day coming up, this series will take a break, and return for the final episode in January.


	49. Aftermath : Fallout

**A/N **Thanks to cristiancereseto for inspiring me to think of the Aftermath idea.

This is part 1 of the series finale, based on Chuck vs the Baby, which so many of us thought should have been the finale anyway. It had a reasonably clever plan, actually, compared to some of the other plots we've seen in this season, with just a few pieces of rampant stupidity to move the plot along. I tried to do better on both scores.

Lots of flashbacks this episode, they'll be in bold, sorry about that, but I use italics for thoughts and other forms of emphasis. I'll try to keep them short.

* * *

"_I'm surprised you're not filming this."_

"_Places, everybody." _

"_She missed you."_

"_The answer is 'yes'."_

* * *

"So how's she doing?" asked Sarah. She'd discarded the little rubber hot water bottle, but she very much wanted her full-sized, husband-shaped one back. That warmth had melted the Ice Queen and she liked being melted.

"She's holding up," said Chuck, coming back to take his position next to her. "Devon prescribed something mild to help her sleep, before he and my mom left for the airport. She's had a rough day." They all had, but none as hard as Ellie's had been, and unlike Carina, asleep in the guest room, mere physical exhaustion wasn't enough to bring her peace.

"She's tough," said Casey. "She'll pull through."

"I know she will, Casey," said Chuck with a sigh. "But it's going to hurt for a while. She hated her time in the surgical unit, and there she at least knew she was helping."

"She had no choice, Chuck," said Sarah gently, knowing that Ellie's pain would be his pain. "She did what she had to do."

"She knows that, Sarah, but the physician's first rule is 'do no harm', and last night she destroyed three lives."

"At least she didn't kill anybody," said Casey.

"Not much of an improvement, Casey. 'Damaged' is often worse than 'dead'." Roarke had wandered for a bit, running his mouth as usual, stumbling continually over the things he'd forgotten, until Chuck had tranqed him just to give Ellie some peace. "Most of Ted Roarke's life was built around my father. Stealing from him, chasing him, whatever. And because of the Intersect–" Ellie's Intersect "–all of that's gone." Everything related to the word 'Bartowski' had been deleted. "It's like…virtual Alzheimers."

_Couldn't happen to a nicer guy_. Not that Casey would ever voice that sentiment in this house. He was just as glad the code was gone, though. Leaving out the cost to Ellie personally, her variation on her father's code sounded highly weaponizable, but it wasn't the sort of weapon he would ever want to use, or see used. Let the Intersect devil everyone knew cover for the actions of the bastard half-brother none of them wanted anyone to know about. Good riddance to all of it.

"**I didn't…exactly…get rid of the Intersect," said Orion, now that Ellie had let the cat out of the bag.**

"**You lied?"**

"**It was my finest work, son. I might have burned it on a disk and then buried the disk, but I couldn't have made myself destroy it."**

"**So you still have the Intersect?" pressed Chuck.**

"**Um, no. I lied, before, but not about that," said Orion. "**_**I**_** didn't get rid of it, but when we put Ellie's code into their system it opened up my system to the virus. I really don't have the Intersect anymore, in any form. Poetic justice, I guess."**

Sarah curled up around her husband, her head on his shoulder. Nap time for her too, soon. "She has her dead, too."

"Yeah," said Chuck with a sigh. "She loved Manoosh, sort of, like a second adopted stepson. In-law."

"And he loved her," said Sarah, knowing full well what true love looked like.

"Kid died a hero," said Casey, sticking the cigar back in his mouth. "No surprise, really, with you two as role models. Should get a star somewhere, if you ask me."

"This whole thing is probably going to get buried under a rock the size of Ted Roarke's ego," said Chuck, stroking Sarah's hair. "No medals in it for any of us."

"Medals?" said Casey, chuckling. "We just saved the world. We'll be lucky if they don't throw us in jail." He pulled the cigar from his mouth. "Like for letting Smith go. A perfect excuse, if they want to use it."

"I gave my word. He had Ellie."

"Lucky for you he was trustworthy," said Casey.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," said Chuck. "I was counting on his 'professional' ethics. Like I told the General, he's a minion. He's only dangerous when he's working for someone dangerous."

Casey wouldn't have, but his name wasn't Chuck. "So tell me something, Bartowski. What were you and your new buddy Vincent chatting about after you so helpfully escorted him past all of your old friends and allies?"

**Chuck walked Vincent to the door. Vincent offered his hand. "Agent Charles, it's been an honor and a pleasure, dealing with a true professional."**

**Chuck ignored the hand. "You pulled a gun on my sister. If I ever see you again I will drop you."**

**Smith lowered his hand. "Fair warning. I understand," he said, nodding, "And I regret the necessity that forced me to such an unprofessional action, but I had to get your attention. Please, allow me to offer you some information, as an apology."**

**Better than an apology. Chuck would accept information. "What is it?"**

"Well, what was it?" asked Casey, when Chuck stopped speaking.

"Is she awake?" said Chuck, looking down at the top of Sarah's head, moving slightly as she breathed deeply and regularly.

"Yes, she is," said Sarah, her eyes closed. Listening to him talk, feeling the rumble of his voice as it resonated through him, was such a pleasant, whole-body experience. "And she's waiting to hear you answer Casey's question."

"Oh. Okay…"

"**Miss Volkoff had a number of projects in motion during her time here," said Smith with some admiration. "She's extremely well organized, and had a very professional attitude, in most of her business affairs."**

**Chuck knew where this was going. "Except for what?"**

**Smith frowned. "She was waging war against a child."**

"A child?" asked Sarah, lifting her head up. "That doesn't sound like Vivian."

"No, it doesn't," said Casey.

"Apparently it wasn't just any child," said Chuck. "Vincent had no knowledge of the specifics, but it seems the baby's parents were big news in Hungary at one point. One day the news was in the obituary column and the child was in the wind."

"And Vivian thinks she's in America?" asked Sarah, strangely intense. "Why is she looking for her? Why does she care?"

"Why do you?" asked Casey.

For a second Sarah glared at him, but then her gaze fell, to look down at herself. "Why do you think, Casey?" she said, her hand coming up to cover her own belly protectively. "If Vivian had found out about this child, not _even_ an infant…"

"The other one wouldn't be an infant either," said Chuck. "This was a couple of years ago. Probably in Kindergarten or something like that, by now."

"Please, Chuck, stop talking," said Sarah. "I need to go home and sleep, and my dreams are going to be bad enough."

"As you wish," quoted Chuck, standing up and giving her a hand up as well. "Casey?"

The Colonel shook his head. "Someone'll have to take Miller home. I think I'll stick around until Devon gets back." Devon wouldn't mind, family was family. It was his idea for Carina to use the guest room. "That couch you two were on looks comfy enough. Leave the blanket."

* * *

A few hours later, Chuck awoke from his nap, aware that he was alone in the bed. That was no good, if Sarah was awake, he wanted to be in on it. He got out of bed, stifling a yawn–yeah, he'd sleep tonight–and went looking for his nearest and dearest.

Sarah sat in their dining room/nook/piece of floor, staring into a cup of coffee.

**Eleven men drinking coffee. Drinking wine, celebrating their slaughter of the unfortunate former owners of the lavish estate. "Kill them all," said her handler, and she did, with guns and knives, and she'd felt **_**pride**_** at the accomplishment. Eleven monsters, killed by a bigger, badder monster.**

"Hey, you," said Chuck, hugging her from behind, not his favorite method but better than nothing. "Couldn't sleep?"

Her voice didn't sound sleepy. Tired, but not sleepy. Hannah'd heard about Manoosh, and called Sarah, who had little enough comfort to offer at that point. "Chuck, could you do me two favors?"

"Sure," he said with a laugh, coming around to sit in front of her. "You have an unlimited supply of favors from me, you know. What's the first one?"

She looked up at him, not a wife to her husband but one professional to another. "Can you find out what Vivian wanted that little girl for?"

He didn't like that look on her, didn't want her to feel like she had to negotiate for something he'd gladly give her. "I can try. What's the second?"

She gave him a wan smile. "Don't ask me about the first?"

He sat back. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?" And what bothered her, bothered him. "Okay, um, hmmm…Until and unless she wakes up, no guarantees on that, I doubt anyone could get you her intentions, unless she wrote them in a diary and they found the diary."

Sarah's finger started to tap on the table. "Second best?"

"If I could get a hold of her computer, I might be able to piece together a list of the things she's done so far. Should give us a clue. For all we know the girl is a family friend, and Vivian just wants to give her a happy home."

Sarah took that idea very seriously. Not. "Who has the computer?"

"Verbanski had the boots on the ground," said Chuck, reaching out a hand to still his wife's twitching finger. "Lots of agencies would be competing for it, too, I imagine, so she may still have it until someone can claim jurisdiction."

"We'll have to come up with some kind of a distraction," said Sarah. Too bad Archer wouldn't be able to live up to her name for the next few months, but Verbanski would probably be ready for that now anyway. "How long do you think it would take you to hack, once we got you inside?"

Chuck reached with his other hand as well. "Sarah? Sweetie? We could just ask her."

* * *

Gertrude Verbanski was multi-tasking. She signed bonus checks, filled out requisitions to restock on their expended materiel, rolled her eyes, and explained yet again to yet another official flunky who had to have the whole story told to him from her own point of view. "No, sir, the men who accompanied me to help my friend carried non-lethal weapons only. No. I wouldn't call it a mission. Everyone who went with me was a volunteer. Yes. Close friends with both Mrs. Charles and Mr. Depak. That's right, the young man who died. They trained together at one point. Yes, sir, I have every intention." On a piece of paper she scribbled 'memorial service'.

The office door opened as her aide escorted Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski in, to claim a few minutes of her copious spare time. She stabbed at them with a finger, silently directing them to her guest chairs with no prisoners taken or excuses accepted. "Colonel Casey isn't one of mine, although I consider him a colleague, and a comrade. Yes, I was there. I did. He was defending himself, with his own weapon. Yes, sir, both a Marine and a marksman. No. You'd have to contact the Marines about that."

"Good luck getting an answer," murmured Chuck into his wife's ear.

Gertrude's finger moved back and forth in a scolding gesture, although her voice never changed. "No, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Have a nice day." She disconnected the call with one hand and rubbed her eyes with the other. "This is my life."

"Sorry?"

She lowered her hand. "I make my own choices, Agent Charles. I'd just…_forgotten_ how much paperwork doing a favor for John entails." She tried to put up a more professional façade. "What can I do for you?"

"It sounds to me like you've done quite a lot already," said Chuck. "Thank you."

"Yes, but not for you," said Gertrude, shaking her head slightly. "Your General knew she would need more manpower than she could get through official channels, and asked me for a personal favor. In your case, I am in your debt, Sarah, as well as Agent Miller's, for warning my men when you did."

Chuck and Sarah exchanged a worried glance. Beckman had put herself at quite a risk for her team. They couldn't let that stand. "We'd like to take over the General's obligation, if we can," said Chuck, knowing his wife's mind as he knew his own.

"I accept," said Gertrude instantly. Having a General in her pocket was fun, but only for a little while. The Agents Charles, with or without their team, were a much safer proposition all around, and it cancelled her own obligation to them nicely. "Did you have anything in mind, or is this a purely social visit?"

"Um…"

"We have reliable intel that Vivian Volkoff was planning some kind of action against a child," said Sarah over Chuck's hesitation.

"A child?" Gertrude didn't look like she liked the sound of that. "That's unprofessional."

"Yes," said Chuck, leaving the source of the intel out of it, in case Gertrude still thought it was a mistake to let Smith go. "But our source had no specifics, so we were hoping we could take a look in Vivian's computer."

"It's heavily encrypted," said Gertrude. "Our best men couldn't break it."

Chuck smiled, but said nothing.

Gertrude sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have the computer anymore. I surrendered it to Agent McHugh an hour ago."

"The FBI?" said Chuck. "I would have thought it was more in the NSA line."

"John Casey's NSA," said Gertrude. "You're CIA, and Agent Miller is DEA. The FBI was the only alphabet group without a dog in the fight."

"What about Agent You-know-who-I'm-talking-about-so-please-don't-ask-me-to-say-her-name?"

Verbanski knew who he was talking about, and didn't ask him to say anything. "Dead bad guys don't count."

"Because they're dead?" asked Sarah. "Or because they're bad?"

Gertrude shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Her phone rang again.

"**Sir the room is a nursery."**

"**That's right," said her handler. "The baby is the package. Does it matter?"**

**She said nothing, looking for the answer that felt right.**

"**Answer me, Agent Walker. Do you have a problem with that, or shall I send another team to do what you can't?"**

**Another team? Not likely, but now she knew where she stood. "No, sir," she said, when what she wanted to say was 'yes, sir'. 'Thank you, sir.' **_**Thank you for showing me what a monster truly is, and that I am not one.**_

* * *

Chuck was on the phone first thing they got out of the VC compound, but his call went to voice mail, so he left a message. While Sarah was driving with somewhat more than her usual flair to the FBI offices, he got a call back.

"Thank God." Anything to take his mind off the road. "Alex?"

"Hi, Agent Charles," she said, making this a professional call. "Sorry I missed your call, I was in the shower."

"At this time of day? I thought you'd be working."

"I _was_ working, that's why I needed the shower. They've been warming up the lowest level of the Triangulum base, where the pit was, and finally managed to get the body of Agent Cunnings free from where she'd fallen. They were lifting the remains out of the pit when she exploded."

He can't have heard that right. "She what?"

"Who what?" asked Sarah.

"Agent Robyn," said Chuck. "Her body blew up."

_Oops_. "Was anybody hurt?" asked Sarah.

Okay, maybe he did hear that right. "Was anybody hurt?" repeated Chuck into the phone.

"No," said Alex.

"No," said Chuck. "Here, let me put this on speaker."

"It wasn't a big explosion," said Alex, "And the body was still mostly frozen, but given that it was getting lifted out of the pit right in front of us when it happened–"

'Mostly frozen' meant partially defrosted. "_Eww_," said Chuck. "Shower time."

"Sorry," said Sarah.

"**I'm sorry, Baby, but it's the best I can do." Two diapers, wadded up and tied over the child's ears. Body armor, loosened to the point where it was almost falling off but still pressing the baby's tiny body against her. Hopefully that would be enough to protect her from the violence Sarah was about to unleash on those who considered a child a 'package', and the monster she worked for. **

"My bomb, a small one, but I didn't stick around to see it not go off."

"She _was_ freezing to death at the time," added Chuck. "Trying not to, that is."

"Don't worry about it, Sarah," said Alex. "It was just a fizzle, and I doubt I'm the first agent who's had to take a shower after being touched by her. So what's up?"

* * *

Alex opened the door to the Director's office, computer in hand and company in tow. "Sir?"

The Director looked up at her with a scowl on his face. "Agent McHugh, it's about time. Who are all these people with you?"

Alex indicated the big man with the angry expression, who stood at the door surveying the room like he expected to find terrorists lying in wait. "This is Colonel John Casey, USMC and NSA."

Casey stepped forward, offering the Director a polite nod. Behind him a tall man with unruly hair peeked out. "Hi."

"This is Charles Bartowski, analyst for the NSA," said Alex, closing the door.

"Call me Chuck," said Chuck, holding out a hand, until a sour grunt from the Colonel called him to heel.

The Director's phone rang, and Alex said, "And that should be General Diane Beckman." Who was also NSA but the Director of the FBI would already know that.

He punched a button. "General?"

"Director," said Beckman. "I trust my asset and his handler have arrived."

"They have. Why have they arrived?"

"POTUS has been briefed on the events that took place earlier this morning, and wants Miss Volkoff's computer decrypted ASAP for your purposes, as well as part of one of our continuing investigations. I volunteered the services of Mr. Bartowski, one of my best analysts."

"And what makes you think he can do the job any better than my best analysts?"

"Perhaps you know Mr. Bartowski better by his other name," said Beckman. "The Piranha."

Chuck waved.

If the Director had been holding the phone he would have dropped it. "The Piranha works for _you_?"

"For quite some time now," said Beckman, suitably vague.

If the Director had been holding the phone he would have crushed it. "Do you have any idea how long we've had a task force looking for this guy?"

"The better part of a decade, as I recall," said Beckman. "I don't have the exact figure in front of me. The NSA thanks you for maintaining his cover so well."

"The NSA–!"

The Colonel stiffened, scowling. The analyst, no, the _Piranha_, lost his friendly smile.

"Yes, Mr. Director?" asked Beckman.

"The NSA," said the Director again, only without the shouting, "Has the…_heartfelt_ gratitude of this office." Casey subsided with a grunt, and the Piranha looked happy again. "Is there anything we can do to make your men's stay as…productive as possible?"

"Lay in a supply of Chardonnay," said Beckman with a sigh. "Rombauer, by preference. It's his thing."

* * *

Casey poured Chuck into his house several hours later, and Sarah took the bucket and poured her husband back into bed. She sat him up and made him take the usual assortment of pills to combat the hangover.

"Thanks, sweetie," said Chuck woozily. "You're so nice."

She winced, trying not to let him see it, or her. "Did you find anything?"

"Absolutely!" said Chuck. "I found out that Vivian Volkoff is one of the most paranoid people I've ever seen. She had 1028-bit ECC algorithms encrypting each folder structure. Who _does_ that?"

"Paranoid people."

"Exactly."

"People who don't want the Piranha looking at their records."

Chuck belched vitamin-breath in her face. "Yeah."

"Like how you're trying to find a little girl…"

"Not sure about that," said Chuck sinking back onto his pillow. "The dates from the files could have lined up either way."

"Lined up with what?" asked Sarah as he closed his eyes. "Chuck?"

He opened his eyes, trying to focus. "Huh?"

"The files lined up with what?"

"Emails. Lots of emails. She could have been asking about the girl for her sake, or she could have been supplying information to the guy. I couldn't tell."

"What guy?"

His eyes were closing again. "You ever heard of somebody named, um, Ryder?"

No, she hadn't, but she knew other names. "Ryker?"

"Yeah, that's it. Good job, sweetie."

Sarah looked down on her dear husband's face as he began to snore. Kieran Ryker. The monster.

* * *

**A/N2 **This chapter is called Fallout for a reason. I was mostly interested in showing what had happened to everyone as a result of last episode's shenanigans, and I used the deduction of Vivian's evil plot to do it. Without Shaw to give the whole plot away they had to work at it, and I definitely wanted to avoid Sarah acting as stupid as Chuck often did.


	50. Aftermath : Game Day

**A/N **One timing element in canon that's a little hard to reconcile is the juxtaposition of the meeting at the café with the playing of games in Castle. Budapest is six hours ahead of us on the East Coast, so a 1 PM meeting there equates to 4 AM in LA, a little early for a game 'night' unless it was running really late from the night before. I'm also not sure what Sarah thought Morgan was supposed to be able to do for the team in Budapest, while he was in LA playing games, but at least it kept him occupied.

* * *

"_So how's she doing?"_

"_We could just ask her." _

"_Was anybody hurt?"_

"_I couldn't tell."_

* * *

Washington DC, two years ago…

"Surprise," said Chuck, taking his hands from her eyes.

Sarah, ever suspicious of surprises in any form, examined her surroundings with a keen eye. Bare wood floors, clear to the walls, no furnishings for terrorists to hide behind. Candles on the floor, along the mantle. A light supper laid out on the floor, an indoor picnic with cushions. "This is our house?" she asked. She turned. A red front door. Outside, in the meager light of all the candles, she thought she saw a white picket fence. She, who hadn't had a home since she was nine, immediately felt at home here, where there was nothing except the two of them.

How did he know? He didn't know how much she hated surprises, so how could he have known about this?

"Can be," said Chuck. "My signing bonus will cover it, but it won't be _our_ house unless you want it to be _your_ house." _Please let me be right, please let me be right._ It was, in a way, his first mission as a spy. After all their work in high-end surroundings, Chuck knew what he didn't want, and after all those game nights in the apartment back in Burbank, he thought he knew what Sarah would like. The CIA-supplied list of available houses sort of trended away from homey and simple, which perhaps was a factor in the generosity of the bonus, but he wasn't the Intersect for nothing. Something about this house said 'Sarah' to him, maybe the door. She always looked so good in red, and he had a vision of her opening that door for him, or coming in that door as he made dinner. "Just say the word."

She turned back to her husband of less than a week, stepped into his embrace, and said the only thing he wanted or needed to hear. "Perfect."

* * *

Washington DC, two years later…

Sarah was getting antsy, waiting for Chuck to wake up. She herself had had only a small nap that morning, before her worries drove her away from the bed, and she knew that once she set her plans in motion she would crash big time. Which was fine, there would be time to crash, at that point.

She couldn't set those plans in motion without Chuck, though. They'd promised each other no secrets and no lies, a promise which, technically, she'd kept even up to that day, but it sure felt like a secret to her, if not a lie. Is it a secret if no one asked about it? He'd never asked before, but she'd gone to the trouble of asking him not to ask , to be sure he wouldn't.

Not that she couldn't tell him, especially not now. The only point the secrecy ever had was to prevent what had already happened, thanks to Vivian. If Ryker was going to come back into the picture, all secrets were null and void, and a little backup wouldn't hurt. But she was still going to kill that bastard herself. "_This mission wasn't sanctioned by the CIA, was it?"_ And he'd smiled!

Until she put a bullet in his shoulder, that is. Technically she shouldn't have opened fire in a crowd at all, but he'd already been lining up to shoot her, so she'd aimed at his shoulder, where the bones would keep the bullet inside his body. She could possibly have killed him with a second bullet, once he had the sidewalk at his back, but someone who'd kill a child for money wouldn't go down easy. With this infant's life at stake she couldn't risk the consequences of an extended gun battle, or arrest, so she bugged out instead.

**She checked the area around the motel carefully.**

**Did he have more men? Could he have more men? Probably not, this was his Big Score, and he wouldn't want to be sharing it with anyone, especially not that little girl. Who was all alone in the room. If she was still in the room at all.**

**Panic was no substitute for good tradecraft, but she made it back inside the room in record time. No one, except for a crying baby. She felt less threatened running from Ryker's gun. Um, let's see, diaper, check. Food, check. She'd just had a nap. What else was there? Oh God, what do I do now? **

**She needed help.**

"I need help, and you guys are it," said Sarah, as Chuck and Casey sat before her at the table, sucking down yet more coffee.

"Okay, first thing, Bartowski," said Casey, with his usual gung-ho attitude. "Get a new coffee maker, 'cause the one you got is crap."

Sarah somehow failed to notice his blinding wit. "Deal with it, Casey," she said. "I've got a desperate situation, a fortune at stake, innocent lives at risk, and an unknown number of hostiles who will stop at nothing and kill anyone who gets in their way."

"I'm in," said Casey, with Chuck not far behind. If Carina had been there she probably would have said it too, so it was a good thing she wasn't there. The damage to her hip was worse than it had appeared, so much so that Devon was keeping her close by for medical reasons. Fortunately she had access to some excellent therapists, and he'd make sure she saw them, too. There was no way she'd be up for any missions soon, so why make her feel bad?

Except she would feel even worse if they didn't ask her. There had to be something she could do, even when she could barely sit. Sarah parked that one in the back of her mind. Maybe Chuck could think of something.

"So talk to us, Bartowski," said Casey, stepping into her wool-gathering pause with all the finesse of a combat Marine. "How desperate? What innocent lives, at what risk?"

After keeping her secret so long, Sarah's thoughts twitched sideways reflexively. "Here's what I can tell you." She turned the computer to face them. The screen held a picture of a man, with no accompanying information. The document next to it was covered in black ink. "This man is named Kieran Ryker. Former CIA, very dangerous."

"More dangerous than us?" asked Casey.

"In Budapest he sent eleven men to kill a wealthy couple so he could take their fortune."

"Eleven thugs against two socialites?" asked Chuck. "Doesn't sound too bad so far."

"Then he had one…guy go in and clean up the eleven."

"Now _that_ guy sounds like a bad-ass, I'd watch out for him," said Casey. "But this Ryker? Unless he was the guy, I'm still thinking candy-ass lightweight."

"Then he intended to kill the guy and keep the fortune for himself."

Chuck raised his hand.

"Yes?" asked Sarah.

"I'll take 'unsuccessful bad-guy plots' for five hundred, Alex."

Sarah smiled at her husband's blinding wit, while Casey grumped into his coffee mug. "Unless it's the guy you're afraid of, and this Ryker clown is just a shill."

"Casey, I _am_ the guy," said Sarah. _Was_ the guy. A monster, just like Ryker. Never again.

"I knew that," said Casey. "Just checking. So what are you afraid of, then, 'cause I'm not seeing 'desperate' so far."

"Well, here's where it gets complicated," said Sarah. She flipped one hand palm up. "The wealthy couple…" She gestured with the other hand. "…had an infant daughter."

As usual, Chuck took that thought and ran over the goal line with it before anyone else even knew it was in play. He didn't even have to flash. "Why would Vivian Volkoff hunt down a missing heiress for someone like him? I doubt it was for the money."

Sarah forced the frog in her throat to shift, so she could get the words out. "It wasn't."

"So what did you do with the kid?" asked Casey, playing catch up and not liking it, as usual. Sarah had to have taken the baby, and Vivian would have hunted it, her, down for free, simply because it would hurt Mrs. Agent Charles.

"That's need-to-know," said Sarah. "And Ryker needs to know." She looked at Chuck. "I don't suppose she said anything helpful in those emails you read?"

He hadn't flashed on anything."Nothing actionable, but then she wouldn't, would she? I mean, sure, she'd do it just to hurt you, but why not get a little quid for all that quo?"

"That's good, that's good," said Sarah, high on adrenaline and too-little sleep."Can you send an email using her account?" Chuck gave her a wounded look. "Set up a meet for tomorrow, Kavezo Mjelka, 1 PM Zulu. He knows me so you'll have to go, as Vivian's representative. Casey can be your muscle."

"Why can't I be the muscle for once?" whined Chuck.

"Just playing to your strengths, sweetie," said Sarah with a smile, but no kiss, because that meant she'd have to get up out of the chair. "You come off all cool, suave and confident without even trying, while Casey's got that whole tear-your-arms-off-and-beat-you-to-death thing down pat."

Casey shrugged. "It's a gift. But isn't this kind of fast?" Even with a chartered jet they'd be cutting it pretty tight.

"We have to get to him before he hears about Vivian," said Sarah.

"And if we do?" asked Chuck.

"Then I find out what he knows, what she told him. Once I know that little girl is still safe, I can kill him."

* * *

"And what am I supposed to do while you three are off gallivanting across Europe, sit in Mr. Doctor's guest room drinking goddamn smoothies?" said Carina into her phone. She tried to sit up, finding it hard to be angry while flat on her back. "Ow."

"Need I say more?" asked Chuck. "But to answer your question, Carina, I have a mission that only you can perform."

Carina sagged against her pillows. "I'm barely-capable-of-walking wounded, Chuck. The commode breaks are killing me, and that's right next to the bed."

"So that's a no on the smoothies, then," said Chuck. "The point is, Ellie won't try to do anything when you tell her where we're going and why."

_Do what? I can take–ow!–no I can't. _"You're helping a child, why would she do anything except say 'go, you' and nominate Sarah for sainthood?"

"She had the night from hell last night, tomorrow night is game night, and I won't be there."

Oh, crap. The night that put the 'no' in 'Snoresville'. "Oh, that's not fair. Game night, and I can't run away?"

"Come on, it'll be fun…"

"You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

"Inconceivable," said Chuck.

"Look, I'll cover for you on the whole mission thing but game night is out," said Carina. "I'm just gonna call Martin. Let him and Alex take one for the team while I get Davis to pick me up and we have our own game night." Her man and her room, now that was fun. She swiveled her hips in anticipation. "Ow." Or not.

"Okay," said Chuck, sounding slightly miffed, "But no Budapest-ian souvenir for you."

"You mean, like one of those cute little rustic mountain village Sno-Globes?"

"Oh, you like those?"

"No."

* * *

Budapest, 1 PM local time, at an outdoor café…

The man standing by the table exuded an aura of menace, an attack dog waiting for a target. The man sitting at the table, with the wall at his back, gave off an aura of calm and control, keeping his dog on a leash. "I see no one resembling the target," he said softly, none of the passers-by close enough to overhear.

The attack dog, facing the other way, grunted softly, as if in response to whatever his master may have said. Nothing coming from that direction either.

"It's just one o'clock now," said Sarah over their comms.

A waiter appeared, carrying a small cup of strong coffee on a tray, with a glass of water, and placed them on the table in front of Chuck, before continuing down the street. Chuck lifted up the cup.

"Don't _drink_ it," said Casey.

"Give me some credit, Casey," said Chuck, putting the cup to one side. "Jeez, you act like I haven't learned anything in the last three-plus years." He lifted up the napkin, reading the message. "Where's Vamhaz Korut?" He felt discreetly for his Hungarian phrasebook, which should have had a map in the back.

"It's a street, south end of town," said Sarah, familiar with that area. She knew where Ryker had to be, but still they had to go through the motions.

"Sounds kind of open-ended, as directions go," said Chuck.

"Probably get more instructions once we get there," said Casey, looking for the next bus.

"Keep me in the loop," said Sarah. "I'm going to follow that waiter."

The two men in suits got on the bus as Sarah reached the street. Sarah saw Chuck looking out the window as the bus started and knew he saw her, but he wasn't about to break cover, nor was she, for anything as blatant as a kiss on the wind. As the bus turned the corner, the waiter Sarah was looking for stepped out of a doorway down the street, saw her looking at him, and took off.

* * *

Woodcombe residence, early in the morning…

Carina Miller was up an about, bright and early, to take her morning dose of the antibiotic Devon made sure she took. He kept it in the kitchen, the sadist, so that she'd have to get out of bed and walk a bit to take it. Somewhere overnight her body had learned to deal with the damage, since it didn't hurt nearly as much to hobble about as it used to. She was nerving herself up for a trip to the bathroom when the doorbell rang.

Carina opened with all due caution. "Martin?" she asked with some surprise. "Alex. What are you doing here?" she asked as they came in.

"Devon called last night," said Morgan, taking off his coat. "When you reminded him about game night and Chuck not being here, he called to reschedule, but I told him we could do a game _day_ instead."

"I thought you slept during the day."

"Not anymore," he said proudly, taking his and Alex' coats to the closet.

"They promoted him," said Alex. "The secure booth, the catering service, and of course his unique appetizers, made the restaurant so successful they promoted the manager, and of course there was only one logical choice to take his place…"

Morgan picked it up from there. "So I had to give up the breakfast gig at the B&amp;B, but now I can afford the full rent, so…"

"Well…um, congratulations…"

"Thanks. I know we're early but Devon said Ellie was feeling down and you were planning to clear out today, so I thought we'd come over and use my highly-trained breakfast making skills on your behalfs. Behalves?"

How…considerate. There went _that_ escape plan. "Um…" Maybe she could call Davis from the bathroom.

"No need to thank me, or even to stand, really," said Morgan. "Why don't you settle yourself in the dining room, I'm sure Alex would love to keep you company, and let the Master of the Kitchen work his magic."

"Um…" Sarah? Anyone? Help…

* * *

Sarah drew ever closer to the fleeing waiter, using the path that her target had to make for himself. The closer she got the easier it became, the easier it became the closer she got. Soon she'd closed the gap enough that a simple tackle brought him down in a pile of trash to break their fall. Sarah dragged him further back into the alley, away from prying eyes. She pushed him up against a wall but he slid to the ground, and stayed there.

"Where's Ryker?" she shouted in English, but the man only seemed to be confused by the sounds coming out of her mouth. She repeated the question in Hungarian.

"I do not know any Ryker," he answered, with panicked speed. "A man came into the shop and bought the presszókávé. He paid me twenty thousand forint to take it to the man sitting at table outside, with a note. I couldn't read the note, I swear! It was in English, except for–"

Somewhere in one of the apartments up above, a baby started crying, its wails echoing in the alley, and she lost the thread of his explanation

**Crying! Crying! What do I do? What do I do?**

"Why did you run?" she shouted harshly, to drown out the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Ryker, at her own helplessness, but interrogating possible suspects was something she knew how to do very well. Again he looked confused, and she realized she'd shouted at him in English again, so she repeated the question.

"My girlfriend and I, we had a fight," he said miserably. "I thought you were her sister, she has this same coat…"

The baby suddenly stopped crying. Sarah stepped back, unconsciously relieved, giving the poor man some space. "Get up," she said, remembering to say it in the right language this time.

A woman started singing up above, her words echoing in the alley as the child's cries had done. Sarah didn't know the words but she knew the tone.

**A lullaby, her mother singing a lullaby over the phone, calming herself and the baby at the same time. Such a simple thing, forgotten over the years of her father's complicated double and triple lives. Lost among her many aliases, none of which had ever had a lullaby sung to them by their mother.**

The waiter noticed her flicker of inattention and struck, his fist impacting her jaw and knocking the back of Sarah's head against the wall. He dragged her into a corner and searched her, finding her tranq gun and putting it to good use. Then he got out a phone and selected a contact. When the connection picked up he said, "Mr. Ryker?"

* * *

**A/N2 **I always thought Sarah being distracted by that fake baby in the mansion was a silly idea, since she'd used the same ploy herself. Turns out a real baby works just as well.


	51. Aftermath : Finally

**A/N** Okay, so you're a pro badass like Ryker. Do you turn your back on a knife-wielding Sarah in the middle of a fight, just because you hear a gunshot? I'm thinking the answer is no. So I populated the whole floor Ryker had Sarah on with lots of guards, disarmed her, and sent Chuck and Casey off on a wild goose chase. You'd think that would matter.

As noted earlier, flashbacks are the text in bold.

* * *

"_Surprise."_

"_I _am_ the guy." _

"_You're helping a child."_

"_Mr. Ryker?__"_

* * *

They were finishing up the last of Morgan's spectacular breakfast feast when the doorbell rang. Devon wiped his lips and excused himself to answer it. "Can I help you?" he said to the man waiting on his doorstep.

"Is Carina here?" said the man. "I'm Davis."

"I remember you, Officer Davis," said Devon with a bright smile. He shook the man's hand, following it with a slight pull. "You were at the wedding, dude. Come on in."

Since the dining room in the Woodcombe house was more of a concept than a thing, everybody heard and had turned around by the time Devon was shutting the door behind his latest guest. "Let me get your coat, Mr. Davis." Devon looked over at his wife. "El, do you mind?" He nodded toward Carina.

Ellie rose from the table to be a proper hostess. Morgan, tactful as always, followed up his handshake with a quick question. "Is Davis your first name or your last name? It's all Carina ever calls you."

Davis flashed Carina a smile. "Oh, I've got a first name and a middle, but believe me, 'Davis' is the best of the lot."

"I hear that," said Devon. "Have you eaten yet, Davis? You must have gotten an early start." Once his guest was supplied with some food, Devon continued. "My own middle name is a total nightmare. Ellie knows it, but she's sworn to take the secret to her grave."

"And besides," added Morgan, thinking about what he said, but only after he said it, "It's not like Casey doesn't call everyone by their last names, too. Except for Ellie." Suddenly he looked curious. "Why _is_ that?"

"Save it for Game Day, Morgan," said Devon. "Sounds like you're jumping the gun just a smidge." Devon held up his hand, two fingers precisely one smidge apart.

"What's game day?" asked Davis. "Doesn't sound like you're talking about football."

"Not unless it's UCLA," said Devon. "Around here game day is an old Bartowski family tradition." He pointed over to the box containing all their favorite and most-played games. "A family that plays together, stays together."

Davis looked over at Carina. "But you called me to come and take you home?"

"Well, you know me," she replied, trying to sound coy. "I have so much more fun playing _with_ someone…"

"Oh," he said, suddenly getting her point, or at least thinking he did. "You need a partner. Sure, I'll play."

"Outstanding," said Devon, as Carina looked for something to bang her head against. "Couples' night it is!"

* * *

Sarah came to her senses, wishing someone would hit her. That would at least be a single thing to deal with, not the general, all-over body unpleasantness that was the usual sign of a tranq antagonist fighting off the tranq everywhere at once. Better than torture, at least the torturers thought so. Less work on their part.

Sitting. She was sitting, wrists and feet fastened to the arms of the chair. She tried to reach around, find out what they'd tied her with, and estimate how long it would take her to cut through it with her razor-nail, but this chair was too thickly-built for her to reach around the arm easily.

Someone hit her. Ryker must be getting impatient, and she forced her eyes to open. "Welcome back, Agent Walker," said the smarmy bastard, leering into her face. He'd lost a lot. Hair, weight, time. "Come to have a cup of coffee with your old handler?"

Hungarian coffee was a torture worse than the tranqs, in her opinion. It may be the national drink now, but when it was first introduced they called it 'black soup'. Sarah had never seen any reason to change the name. "You're as bad an interrogator as you were a handler. You're asking the wrong questions." She head-butted him in the nose, and he stumbled away from her in the empty, anonymous room, the kind that could be anywhere.

He came back and slapped her. "You haven't changed either, Agent Walker." He grabbed her hair, pulling her head up to make her look at him. "Even with two partners you're still here, all alone, while they're wandering around downtown, waiting for instructions that will never come. Do they even know why they're here?"

She shrugged as best she could. "Do they need to?"

Ryker laughed. "Like I said, you never change." He let go of her hair and stepped back. "People like us, we don't need to. We just need to find ways to force events back onto the right path, such as you giving me that little girl, and me giving you a quick death. I won't even make you thank me for it."

Sarah smiled. "So you really don't know where she is," she said, satisfied. "That's all I needed to know."

"Oh," said Ryker in mock-surprise. "That's all _you_ need to know." He waved a hand in the air. "Like this whole thing was your clever plan to draw me out." Ryker grinned at her, digging the barrel of his gun into her chest. "Good idea with the fake email, by the way, but Miss Volkoff and I didn't communicate by email. She made her drops to me by courier. The emails were code keys to decrypt the files. So when your note came in I saw a chance for me to draw _you_ out."  
"Why?" said Sarah. "You know I'll never tell you where she is."

"But I don't need you to, Sarah. Vivian already gave me all the information I need to track her down myself." Ryker lifted a thick folder. "All _I_ needed, and wanted, is you, here, while my team is in the States, looking for a house with a red door." He pulled out a photo and showed her a picture of her own house.

**She always loved the smell of her mother's flower garden, the smell and sound of grass being mowed, somewhere. Her father found such things tedious, the reward never worth the effort, and for awhile so had she. Eventually she came to see that the reward **_**was**_** the effort, not the pleasing sights and sounds.**

**Today she smelled paint, the door and the fence retouched last weekend, the house to be done next weekend. Even as she stood on that familiar porch she drank in all the sights and sounds of home, knowing she would never have them again. Her mother would keep that little girl safe, just as she'd tried to keep Sarah safe, and Sarah would protect them both by never seeing her mother again.**

"There are lots of houses with red doors," said Sarah, realizing as she said it that it was the wrong thing to say. 'My husband chose it' would have been better, equally true, but she knew why he'd chosen it. The houses she'd bookmarked on their list had red doors or gardens or picket fences a-plenty, but none had them all.

"Of course there are," said Ryker with a smirk.

"Which state will you start in?"

He pretended to think it over. "California."

"Really? Interesting choice. Southern, Central, or Northern?"

"Northern. Would you like to know why?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Go ahead, impress me with your brilliance."

"I'll accept brilliance," said Ryker with a nod. He pulled up a chair, reversed it, and sat down, facing her. "Did you have any idea just how long the CIA had been keeping tabs on your father?" Ryker didn't wait for her to try to answer. "Years. He ruffled a lot of feathers, internationally, on more than one occasion. Have you ever seen a list, or better yet, a map, of all the places your father's run his scams? It's huge!" Ryker gestured with his hands. "Like a hurricane, with this…big old eye right in the middle." He drew a comparatively small circle in the air with the tip of his finger. "East to west, north to south, but he never goes there. Why is that, do you think?"

"**Can you guarantee its protection?" she'd asked, watching the little girl, not an 'it', never an 'it', listen to the sounds of the rain.**

"**You know I can't make guarantees, Sarah," her boss Graham had said. "The CIA keeps records on these kinds of things, records that a man like Ryker might be able to get his hands on, and who knows what he would do."**

_**I do.**_** Sarah made up her mind. "I'm not in possession of the package, sir."**

Sarah's face was a mask of ice, because, you know, 'Ice Queen' and all that. "What did you tell those men when you sent them to their deaths?" she asked. "I'm guessing it wasn't the truth."

"The only deaths around here will be your own, and those of your men," said Ryker, tapping her leg with his gun. "Although maybe I'll just sit back and watch them stumble around looking for you a while first." He stood up and got out his phone. "My men found a nice house yesterday, red door, garden, soccer ball in the front yard. Older woman, with a young daughter, named Molly." He paused in his button-pushing to give her a funny look. "'Molly'? What'd you do, use a freelancer for the paperwork?"

"Had to," she said. "I think even you would have noticed an infant agent coming out of the CIA identity mill."

He ignored the dig, getting back to his business with the phone. "I thought you might like to listen in as my team slaughtered that poor mother and took the frightened, screaming child away."

* * *

Back in DC, after round one of Game Day…

"Is something wrong?" asked Davis, as Devon helped Carina away from the table.

"Probably just the sitting," said Ellie. "This is the longest she's been up since the initial injury, and I'm sure her hip isn't happy about that."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "She doesn't look…"

"She doesn't look what?" asked Alex, when he left the sentence hanging.

"I don't know," said Davis. "She didn't look like she was in pain, she looked…sad." He looked back at them, clearing the table of the paddles and the pens. "Does that make any sense?"

"No," said Alex. "You guys just kicked ass at Know Ya, your first time out. You're so simpatico it's scary. What's there to be sad about?"

* * *

Behind the closed door of Carina's room…

"He doesn't know me at all," said Carina miserably.

"What are you talking about?" asked Devon, gently inspecting the wound while he had the opportunity. "Every answer he gave was spot on."

"Of course they were," she said. "They're the answers I let him have."

"Oh."

* * *

In the dining room…

"Whatever it is, Devon can talk her through it," said Ellie, in low tones, shuffling stuff around in the box. "He's good that way."

Davis turned his attention her way. "Look, I know I'm just a guest in your house, and if you think I'm out of line just tell me and I'll shut up, but somehow I don't think you really believe that."

"Of course I do," said Ellie, her voice flat, slapping the box shut.

"Ellie?" said Alex, also skilled at the recognition of atypical behavior. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Ellie, plopping into a chair. "Nothing he can fix, but he keeps trying."

* * *

In Carina's room…

"I don't believe that," said Devon, confidently. "I just think you've been Agent Miller so long you've forgotten where she ends and the real Carina begins."

"What if there isn't one?" asked Carina. "What if I'm so far gone that only Chuck can see the real me? I don't want Chuck, I want Davis."

Devon smiled again. "No problem. There's nothing easier to fix in the world."

* * *

At table…

"Some things there are no easy fixes for," said Alex, moving closer to the place where Ellie was sitting. "We were there when Chuck had to take a life, we'll be there for you." She reached out and took Ellie's hand in hers.

Davis sat on the other side. "No cop I'd want to be partnered with ever takes that sort of thing lightly, Mrs. Woodcombe." Not that he thought Ellie would ever kill anyone. "I don't know what you did, I probably never will, but I can tell you now that in time it will get better. Right now you're staring at the thing you've done, and it looks huge, and it is huge. But whatever it was, you didn't do it for no reason. Hopefully in time you'll see some of the good results that you bought with that action."

Ellie smiled, a little. Chuck had told her that Dreyfus said pretty much the same thing.

"It hurts, Ellie, we know it hurts," said Alex. "And it's probably the last thing you want to do right now, but you have to pay attention. Sometimes those good results are very small, and if you blink or look away you might miss them. I can guarantee Chuck will see them, even if you don't."

* * *

A more bedside manner…

"The secret is paying attention," said Devon. "Pay attention to your life, all of it, not just the Cliff Notes version you feed all your marks. You'll see lots of stuff that never made it into that little book."

Carina felt around inside her own mind and found a vast echoing wasteland, not even a Cliff Notes version of her. "What do I do if there isn't anything?"

"Make something," said Devon. "That's what humans do. When your life goes off the path you thought it was on, you make a new path."

Easy to say. "I don't know if I can."

"We'll help."

"You'll try," said Carina with a sniff. "That's not what they teach us in training. We're only supposed to count on ourselves, trust ourselves."

"You're not alone, Carina. In fact, I know the perfect guy to talk to. I'll be right back." Devon left Carina's room, and noticed almost everyone else huddled together at the far end of the table, talking softly. He ducked into the kitchen and found the man he was looking for. "What's going on?" he asked Morgan.

"Don't know. Cop stuff, I think."

Devon didn't know what 'cop stuff' would put even that little smile he saw on his wife's face, but he was glad to see it there. He put an arm across Morgan's shoulders. "Come on, little buddy, Carina needs you."

"Me? Don't you mean him?" Morgan pointed at Davis.

"I mean you," said Devon, steering Morgan out of the room. "She wants to upgrade her life, and out of all of us here you've proven yourself to be the best at that, Mr. Manager."

* * *

Budapest, in some rat-hole office…

"You'd better be planning to kill me," said Sarah.

"You know, I actually wasn't sure," said Ryker. "This building is slated for demolition, so I was thinking about just leaving you here, and letting you ride it down. All things considered, now I'm thinking maybe I should just shoot you and have done." He put the phone on the table and pressed the speaker key. "Are you in position?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Ryker," said the phone. "There's a woman in the kitchen doing dishes. No sign of the kid."

Ryker shrugged. A four-year-old girl at that time of day wouldn't be that hard to find. "Move in, and make it loud." He put the phone on mute, but turned up the volume.

The phone made sounds like multiple car doors opening. The men were quite clumsy, or perhaps they were just trying to 'make it loud' per their boss' command. Some of those clumsy feet faded away, as men took up positions around the perimeter. The man holding the phone was apparently the designated shooter, since the clump-clump of his feet on the wooden steps was as loud as ever.

The knob turned, the door creaked. Sarah heard it all, and fought her bindings as if that would accomplish anything. Even if she killed Ryker now, that team couldn't be stopped by anything she did.

The screen changed, as the phone buzzed with incoming messages. Ryker picked it up. "Oh, how nice," he said to Sarah. "They're sending us pictures." He held out the phone, images of a baby girl on the screen. With every soft footfall of his man's feet through the house, he moved through the pictures of the life that he was determined to end.

The sound of running water came over the phone, covering the noise of the assassins' stealthy approach. The flow of the water, the splashing, the clinking of dishes, got suddenly louder, and Sarah knew that they had entered the kitchen itself. Whoever held that gun was getting closer with every beat of her heart.

Suddenly there was a splash, and a gunshot. Two shots, and Ryker grinned at Sarah. The phone made a loud noise, as if it had fallen to the floor, and Ryker's face fell with it. He took the phone off mute and shouted, "Johann!"

Rapid footsteps echoed over the phone, as whoever held it ran across the floor. A loud noise exploded over the speaker as the front door slammed open, the remaining men fanning out to find the girl now that the mother was dead.

Or not. More shots, the sounds of meat falling to the floor. "Karl," shouted Ryker uselessly into the phone, with no response. "Johann!" He saw Sarah stop struggling as if it had all been a show for his benefit.

The shooting stopped but the noise continued, as whoever was in the house fought hand to hand. Ryker turned his back on Sarah's mocking grin as he continued to shout names into his phone, but aside from assigning names to tombstones it did no good at all. Finally the phone said something back, in a woman's voice. "I'm sorry, all your men are busy being dead right now."

"Who is this?"

"You can call me Frost," said the phone, "Put my daughter on."

"You can listen to her die!" said Ryker.

"Oh, I doubt that," said Frost.

Behind Ryker, Sarah shouted, "Thanks, mom," and Ryker started to turn, to make good on his threat.

Sarah hit him with the chair, knocking Ryker to the floor as she casually freed her other wrist. Ryker reached for the gun, but she lashed out with her foot and kicked it from his hand.

Ryker launched himself at her, fist raised to strike, and Sarah turned slightly, automatically, to protect her belly and her child. Ryker missed his target, hitting her in the ribs, but managed to move her from his path as he reached the door. "You never learn, do you Sarah? You show up with two idiots, while I've got men all over this floor!" He pulled open the door, certain that his backup would be there.

Two men stood on the other side of the door, their positions indicating they'd been leaning against the frame and listening. "Hey sweetie," said Chuck. "You almost done?"

Ryker turned at the sound of the strange voice, catching a glimpse of his men lying on the floor behind them.

Something stroked the side of his neck, and suddenly Ryker felt cold, and very weak. He sank to his knees.

Sarah stood behind him, pressing her fingers against his neck so he wouldn't lose consciousness or bleed out too quickly. "Sarah Walker would have been alone, Ryker, but I'm not Sarah Walker. Not now, not ever again. And that little girl will live a normal life, never knowing that monsters like us ever existed." She let go of his neck, standing up as Ryker's eyes glazed over.

Sarah picked up the phone. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear," said Mary. "He's dead?"

Chuck grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled the phone closer. "All the way dead, mom. Casey's going through his pockets looking for loose change as we speak."

Casey looked at the kneeling corpse, his lip curling with distaste. This guy wasn't worth a grunt.

"That's nice, Chuck," said Mary. "Now let the grown-ups talk. Sarah, your mother's fine. She got your signal and went to Orion Industries last night. We've kept her and Molly safe for you. You can come home now."

Sarah rushed up and grabbed Chuck, kissing him soundly. "Home," she said, when she had breath to speak. "I love that word."

* * *

Back in DC…

Devon put down the phone. "That was Chuck and Sarah," he told the assembled players. "They're coming back, but not to DC. Sarah's mom is waiting for her in LA."

"I didn't know Sarah had a mom," said Morgan, thoughtful as ever. Carina got a peculiar look on her face.

"Um, yeah," said Devon into the sudden silence. "So anyway, they'll be back here in a couple of days." He looked down at the board. "Who's turn is it?"

"Mine," said Carina. She flexed her fingers and reached out for the spinner. It rattled 'round and 'round, slower and slower, finally coming to a stop, caught between two numbers by the little plastic tongue that was just barely holding on.

The table thumped, and the tongue let go, firmly in the '10' space. "What?" said Morgan, as everyone turned to look at him. "I mean, it was the suspense, you know how I twitch when I get nervous. And besides, I didn't even win."

"No one's blaming you, Morgan," said Devon, surprising most everyone else, "It looks like Carina won the Game of Life." With a little help from her friends.

"Not yet," said Carina, picking up her token. A little plastic car with two little people in it, no kids. She thought some more about her mother. "But I'm working on it."

* * *

**A/N2 **Okay, that's it for the plot. Next chapter is Happily Ever After time, with lots of Charah fun to go around.


	52. Aftermath : The Family Way

**A/N** This story has moved along a lot faster than canon ever did, a side-effect of my style of writing, so Molly will be a younger child than she was in canon. A little older than four, rather than almost six.

This is the last chapter of the last episode of this series. I'm combining the Christmas party from Santa Suit with the dinner party from the Baby episode, with a few additional happy endings thrown in for good measure. No flashbacks here, this chapter is moving forward.

* * *

"_I'm Davis."_

"_I'm guessing it wasn't the truth." _

"_The secret is paying attention."_

"_I'm working on it."_

* * *

One month ago, in LA…

Mary picked them up at the airport, as she drove down from the slightly-damaged-and-currently-under-repair home of the two most recent additions to Bartowski family. None of the bullet-holes were her fault, of course, but the hand-to-hand had gotten…out of hand. That wasn't a supporting wall, but it still should have been sturdier than it turned out to be.

Three 'business executives', two young, one not-so-young, were just disembarking from the private jet as she drove onto the tarmac for the pickup. Not surprisingly, Casey sat in front, while her son and his wife took the back together. Mary looked her daughter-in-law over critically in the rearview mirror. "Are you alright, Sarah?"

The blonde in the back touched a cheek gently. "It's just a bruise. Ryker liked to show off."

Mary smirked at the use of the past tense, but that faded quickly. "And the ribs?" She pulled away from the plane and toward home.

Sarah brushed a hand over the jacket covering the place where Ryker had punched her. She should have known an agent of Mary's caliber wouldn't miss that. "He got a hit he shouldn't have gotten." She noted the glower from on high. "But you don't have to say anything, Mary. This was my last job. We decided that before we left Florida."

Mary nodded. "Good to hear." She expected it, but of course they hadn't told her beforehand, so they wouldn't jinx it.

"How's Emma, Mom?" asked Chuck.

"I barely saw her, but according to your father she's a real trouper." They'd met halfway, at some truck stop or other, but Mary had only gotten a quick look as they switched vehicles. She liked what she'd seen, and the daughter seemed to be taking the sudden change well, too. "Stephen was always so good with kids."

"What's the cover story?" asked Casey. Surely they hadn't told a kid that young the truth.

Mary shrugged. "Her sister is coming home for Christmas."

Casey grunted approval. "Simple."

Chuck nodded. "Short, sweet–"

"And true," said Sarah.

* * *

The closer they got the more nervous Sarah became. What would she say? What _could_ she say?

Chuck took her hand. "Nervous?"

She squeezed his fingers. "Just a lot. My mother raised Molly to think she was my sister. She has to wonder where I was." Fighting bogey-men. Staying away to keep her safe. "How do I tell that little girl why I was gone for so long?"

"You're thinking about the past too much, Bartowski," said Casey from the front seat. "My advice? K-I-S-S, and I don't mean you two! Don't tell her why you were gone, tell her why you came back."

* * *

Chuck watched as his mother reached toward the lock, but her hand didn't have a key in it. "Once a spy?"

She shoved the lock to one side and pressed her thumb against the scanner. "Always a spy." She opened the door for her family to enter.

The TV drew their attention first, sounds of electronic mayhem mixed with laughter, as a tall man with shaggy hair battled a well-groomed little girl for supremacy in some arena that was colorful, quick, and Godawful loud. The noise didn't seem to bother the woman sitting on the couch, leafing through one of a rather large collection of photo albums with a smile on her face.

"Stephen!"

The sound chopped off as the game paused in mid-crash. Stephen Bartowski got up from his seat, while Emma closed the book and set it down on the table, where some juices, ciders, and cups waited for a party to show up. "Hi, dear," he said, putting the game controller down. "I was just, _erm_, beta-testing our new prototype."

"Hard at play, as usual," said Mary.

Stephen went to hug Chuck. "And she wonders why she gets coal in her stocking. Welcome home, son. Sarah–?"

Sarah wasn't listening. She left all the mumbling behind, lost in the pounding of her heart as she approached the woman she had longed to be with for so many years. "Mom?"

Emma wiped suddenly sweaty hands on her pants leg as she took a step forward. "Sam?"

"It's 'Sarah' now, mom," said Sarah, holding up her left hand. "Sarah Bartowski, now and forever."

Emma put her hand up against her daughter's, and they clasped their hands together. "So you finally settled. I hoped you might."

Being Chuck's wife wasn't 'settling' for anything, but that wasn't how her mother used that word. "That's a very long story, mom."

"Can I hear it?" asked the little girl, suddenly standing at Emma's side.

"Molly," said Emma, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "I'd like you to meet your sister, Sarah."

Sarah, much taller than her mother, sank to one knee. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Molly," she said, taking one of the little girl's hands in her own.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Molly, as her mother had taught her. She smiled, feeling very grown up. "Can you tell me the story?"

"Molly–" said Mary, but Sarah raised a hand, and her mother-in-law subsided.

"She deserves to hear it." Sarah looked at her mother, standing there looking hesitant. "The 'Good Parts' version, I promise."

"What does that mean?" asked Molly.

"It means I'm going to leave out all the boring bits," said Sarah. And the bad bits. And the violent bits. So it was going to be a pretty short 'long story', too.

Everyone sat down, except for Casey, who wasn't the settling type, and drinks were poured. With a sip to clear her throat, Sarah said, "Chuck?" and when he leaned in close she whispered, "How do I start?"

"Try 'once upon a time'," he suggested. "Works for me."

"Okay," said Sarah. She took a deep breath, and said, "Once upon a time, um, there was a little girl, bigger than you but still little, who made a wrong choice." A life in search of adventure, rather than seeking out the adventure in the life she already had.

Chuck, perched on the arm of his wife's chair, held up a hand over Sarah's head, pointing down, and Molly nodded. "She knows it's me, Chuck," said Sarah, seeing the little girl staring over her head and knowing her man very well.

"Just making sure."

"You want to tell this story?"

"No."

"Good."

"Except to say that the bad choice led to other bad choices that left this girl in a bad place, like Ariel when she defied her father, made a deal with Ursula, and found herself voiceless and alone. You know that movie, right?" Molly shook her head. "'Little Mermaid'? No?"

"So the girl," said Sarah, reaching up over her head, pinching his lips together, and seizing back her story. "Eventually a woman, found herself alone, in a bad place. Then her mother called her, and told her she had a sister, and she realized she had no idea how to be a sister, or even a daughter. So she stayed away, thinking it was better not to be a sister at all, than to be a bad one. That's when she met the most wonderful man in the world.'

Chuck pointed at himself, and Molly grinned.

"Or at least she thought so until _today_." Sarah dug an elbow into Chuck's ribs, and he threw himself off the arm of her chair with a big noise and flailing about. Molly laughed. "And this mostly wonderful man had a really wonderful sister, who showed me how to be a sister too."

"So now you can be _my_ sister?" asked Molly.

"I'm ready to try," said Sarah. "And even better, in order to make his sister happy, we found her father, and then we found their mother, and they were able to help me figure out how to be a daughter again. A real daughter, a good one." She looked at Emma with _I'm sorry_ in her eyes, and Emma took her hand, squeezing gently. "And so here we all are together."

"Yay!" said Molly, leaping up and throwing herself into Sarah's lap.

"Good story?" asked Sarah, surprised.

"Tell it again," said Molly, bouncing on her lap. She pointed at Chuck. "Especially the part where he falls off the chair!"

* * *

Somewhere three time zones to the east, a woman in a hospital bed, her room quiet, still, and very secure, opened her eyes. "Hello?"

* * *

Chuck sat properly in his chair, much to Molly's amusement, watching the not-quite-a-party swirl about him. How long had it been since he'd had a Christmas with both his parents at the same time? If only Ellie could have been here, but according to Casey, who'd disappeared with Orion at one point to check on the house's security setup, internal security was recording the whole thing, so there'd be a recording for her. Yes, the pratfall too. Suck it up, Bartowski.

Being Bartowskis, they all naturally gravitated toward the only child in the room, but they also deliberately held back, trying not to overwhelm her with a crowd of strangers. Molly had formally and with great ceremony introduced her new sister to her toy dog, a floppy-eared hound named Rex, and Sarah had told Molly about her own favorite toy, a dog named Bunny, which got a giggle. Chuck had tried his hand at the new prototype game, but somehow the controls just didn't fit his hands, or something, since Molly kept winning.

Or maybe it had been the sight of his mother and Emma, talking quietly in the corner where there was probably no surveillance. Emma looked upset, Mary looked calm and consoling. The house would be fixed before they got back to it, and Molly would never know anything had happened. Just then his car flipped over and fell to pieces, and his pit crew came out to put it back together again while Molly raced ahead, laughing. She'd crash somewhere up ahead, he was sure–the pit crew's antics were half the fun, and the cars never came out working the same way after they were done–but apparently there were better places to crash than others.

There were presents, of course, but unfortunately they were in transit, shipped from LA to DC or from DC to LA, neither branch of the Bartowski family having foreseen this little coming-together. The presents they _did_ have were mostly for Molly, but since no one else had anything to unwrap, Emma politely put them away to open when they got home.

Sarah appeared from behind him (he knew she was there, of course), so he rose to his feet, took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For giving me a mother-in-law like Emma and a sister like Molly, of course," said Chuck. "I just wish I had something to give you."

Sarah kissed him back, not on the hand. "But you have, Chuck. You've given me everything I could have ever thought to ask for. I have everything I ever wanted."

"Well now, missy," said Chuck in a mildly scolding tone. "I happen to know for a fact that that's not true."

Something was, as they say, up. "Oh, really?" said Sarah, smiling.

"Yes, really," said Chuck. "The thing is, you see, that in between getting saved by the General, and Carina and Gertrude, and then Manoosh, and then my sister, I sort of almost managed to not be able to get you a present for Christmas this year."

He didn't have to, he _was _her gift. "Chuck–"

"Thank God for Vivian."

Brain glitch. "Vivian who?"

Chuck reached into his back pocket. "The Vivian who stole this–" he produced her charm bracelet with a flourish "–from you." He knelt before her, before them all. "May I?"

"You may." She held out her wrist, and he fastened the precious decoration where it belonged. Stephen embraced his wife as they looked on. Once the clasp was closed, Sarah took it to Mary first, and then to her own mother.

"It's pretty," said Molly, touching some of the charms after Sarah gave her permission.

"Didn't you give her that already, Bartowski?" asked Casey.

"Do you have to be such a killjoy, Colonel?" said Stephen.

"He _is_ right, though, Dad," said Chuck equably. "Which is why that's not the present." He reached up into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small envelope, and offered it to Sarah. "I got this in Budapest."

Sarah took the envelope and spilled its contents into her hand. "Oh–" she said. Was all she _could_ say. She held her hand out to him, eyes glistening.

He shook his head. "Perhaps she should help with this one?" he said, indicating Emma. He moved back.

Emma sat up straighter, shifting Molly on her lap as Sarah nodded, unable to speak. "Chuck?"

Sarah knelt, and held out her hand. On her palm was the silhouette of a little girl's head, a silver charm. "Sarah?" said Emma, lifting the ornament. "Are you…?"

The blonde ex-spy nodded again, smiling through her tears. "Do you think you could give me some 'mommy' lessons now?"

* * *

Chuck stopped backing up when he ran up against a brick wall that said, "A girl, huh?" right in his ear.

"Yup."

"What if it's a boy?"

"Sarah's sure it's a girl."

As if reality would bend around her wishes. It would, if it was smart, but no one said reality was smart. Look at all those TV shows it made. "What if it's not?"

"She's sure it is."

Casey made an amused sound. "You've got a boy charm in your pocket, don't you?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Duh."

* * *

Two weeks ago, in DC…

The doctor pushed the door open part-way, tapping to get her attention, not that she needed to. "Vivian, your visitors are here."

Vivian stood and straightened her clothes unnecessarily. "You may let them in now."

"Don't be so nervous, it's your father," said the doctor as she closed the door.

Which was precisely why Vivian was so nervous. Alexei Volkoff's support came with a high price, that she be prepared to excel at whatever he was supporting her in, and he had the highest standards she'd ever struggled to meet. She could only imagine how disappointed he would be in her, to find her in hospital this way.

Then there was the man himself, and an older woman stepping into the room. "Vivian, darling!" said the man, walking into the room and taking her hands.

"Father?"

He drew her in for a hug. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you in your hour of need."

Something felt off to Vivian. Alexei Volkoff was never so bold with his emotions. This embrace both thrilled and frightened her. "I don't understand, Father. You've always been there for me, you've given me everything."

"Not everything, dear," said Hartley, gesturing his mother, Vivian's grandmother, forward. "I have, in point of fact, kept a great deal from you, but that ends now."

* * *

Ellie stood in her monitoring station, watching the various screens as they told her more about what was going on inside Vivian's head than the words and the gestures did. The clothes she wore, and how she felt about them. Her father's past, and present kindness. So far, so good. Now for the real test, the final test.

* * *

"Six months?" said Vivian incredulously. No wonder they hadn't let her see a newspaper, or anything with a date on it. She touched along the back of her head, but felt nothing.

"I doubt you'll feel anything now," said her father. "Fortunately Artemis' training kept her from kicking out as strongly as she might have, but even so, if your young man hadn't been there…"

Vivian left off searching for the injury. "My _who_?"

* * *

Ellie lifted her phone. "Send him in."

Carina walked her charge to the door but made him go into the room alone. She waited a few moments, just in case, but when nothing instantly exploded she headed back to her seat.

* * *

Vivian looked up as the door opened, and a tall, curly-haired man stepped through, a little hesitantly. "Miss Vol–I mean, Miss MacArthur?"

She rose slowly, staring at him, his eyes, so…brown. "I…Do I know you? I feel like I should."

"We…met briefly," he said, sounding a bit nervous, staring at her. "I was there to coordinate the service at your party, and we…chatted." A world of implications lay behind that word. "I was there in the stable, when your horse was startled, and kicked–"

"My father tells me you might have saved my life," said Vivian with a smile. She couldn't stop smiling. "I wish I remembered you better." Or at all. She held out her hand. "Are you free for dinner, Mister…?"

He took her hand, bowed over it like a gentleman. "Carmichael, Miss MacArthur. Charles Carmichael."

"A pleasure, Charles." A genuine pleasure. Dinner could not come soon enough. "Please, call me Vivian." She nodded, to include the others in the room. "It's a Winterbottom family name."

* * *

Ellie sat alone in her room, wiping tears from her eyes, smiling. She couldn't stop smiling. Vivian Volkoff, her entire existence neatly coinciding with Chuck's presence in her life, was gone, erased as if she had never been, and her family and Mr. Carmichael would help keep this old-new Vivian from ever going down that path again.

Ellie thought about souls, like her father had been doing a lot lately. After Bryce…

_"Everything went back, Eleanor, everything but the Intersect. Bryce died trying to destroy the Intersect. Is it so unbelievable that somewhere in his frozen brain that one imperative remained, waiting to be fulfilled?"_

Until they pushed all that code through his frozen brain, and…Ellie would never know, but some days, she was more willing to believe than others, and forgive. If not for Bryce, Chuck would have been the one in that tube. She called the General. "Miss MacArthur is ready to be released." Then she called the General back. "And expedite, please. She's got a dinner date."

* * *

Two young men stood waiting for Carina by her chair, leering at her. "Hola, senorita," said the larger one, in a tired monotone. "We are looking for Miss Vivian Volkoff."

"She's with family now," said Carina. "You'll have to wait."

At the news that she was near they became a great deal more animated. And demanding. "We have followed Miss Volkoff around the world, to deliver a message of great importance," said the thug, holding up a flash drive. "Our _business_ cannot wait."

Carina smiled, recognizing that drive. These two simpletons had followed Miss Volkoff through any number of her suppliers and/or customers, searched at each one, the trackers in their bodies activating at each search. They'd gutted her empire, and now…here they were. One last fling before she retired to desk duty, i.e., got promoted. "You two young men definitely deserve a reward for your dedication and service. Come with me and I'll make sure that you get all that you deserve."

* * *

Tonight, at the house with the red door that Chuck and Sarah called home…

"Morgan, please stop straightening the buffet table, you're not on duty." Chuck looked around for help. "Alex, could you sit on him, please?"

"Oo, gladly," said the young FBI agent, steering her man toward a chair. "You heard him, sweetie. It's his house…" A small grunt as girl sat on boy, a soft moan as girl distracted boy from silly things like food service. Chuck wasn't about to turn around. He heard a grunt of pain behind him as he made his rounds, leaving the imaginary dining room area for the imaginary living room area.

"I'm gonna need something stronger than this Chardonnay…" said the grunter.

Alex came up for air. "Scotch. Kitchen, top left cabinet."

"Nice," said Casey. "Would you like some, Gertrude?"

Emma was still in front, by the picture, the current wedding photo, as Chuck and Sarah cycled through their many favorites from the reception. Chuck amused himself all the time, trying to figure the time and place, the story behind each one. "So what do you think?" he asked as he got close enough not to have to yell. "Post-dip? We had a really nice dip in the middle there." He looked over at the couch, where Sarah was introducing Molly to the sister who showed her how to be a sister, and of course Carina had to sit in on that. She did a lot of sitting in on things these days, but tonight she was practically shaking the chair apart with some secret tension.

Emma shook her head, bringing his attention back to the photo. "Not flustered enough." She didn't really know Chuck all that well, but she'd seen the effect he had on her daughter. The tough little thing she'd worried about so often was nowhere in sight. "I'm thinking first dance, right as the music starts."

"Devon had a great speech," said Chuck. "I think."

"You had other things on your mind, I'm sure." Emma smiled at him. "Thank you for giving her this."

Chuck wasn't sure what to say. How could he _not_ have given it to her? It was hers, he was hers, right from the start, no 'giving' involved. The hard part was trying to get her to _take_ it.

The doorbell saved them from what was growing into an awkward moment. Chuck excused himself to answer it, while Emma went to watch Morgan try to do a card trick. If his magic was anything like his Mario Kart she had to be ready for the worst.

Chuck missed seeing Morgan's deck of cards explode all over the room, but he heard Molly's squeal of joy as he checked the panel by the front door. He found himself staring down into the face of Roan Montgomery, who looked up into the camera and gave it a wink. Chuck opened the door. "Aunt Diane," he said loudly, as General Beckman stepped over the threshold, "So glad you could come. Roan, always a pleasure."

"Thank you for the invitation, Charles," said Roan. "I understand congratulations are in order?"

Chuck held out his arm, and Sarah stepped into his embrace. "On many fronts," she said, resting a hand on the curve of her belly.

Roan beamed. "One of several enlargements to your family, eh, Charles? Well done."

Sarah took the hint. "Let me introduce you to my mother, and Molly, my sister."

Beckman stayed behind. "I apologize in advance, if he sweeps any of the ladies off their feet."

Sarah looked surprised. "My mother?"

"Your sister. He's very good with children." They watched as Roan turned on the charm, first for the mother, then the daughter. Satisfied that he would stay out of trouble for the moment, Beckman said, "Please, excuse me. I see Agent Miller over there. I have some news for her."

Chuck put their coats away, coming back to the room in time to see Roan Montgomery seat himself on the floor, elegantly of course, and ask Molly solemnly, "Is this Dog?" as she showed off her most precious possession.

Suddenly they heard Alex shout, "My eyes, I'm blind!" Morgan raced off to the kitchen, passing Casey and Gertrude as they were, ahem, on their way out. Naturally they came over to Beckman to pay their respects. Chuck looked desperately for anything else to think about, and noted Carina's happy glow, still tinged with that strange buzz, and ambled over to satisfy his curiosity.

Sarah watched as Morgan and Alex came out of the kitchen, Morgan moving like a man on a mission. 'Uh-oh." She moved to intercept.

Carina and Davis got to her first, even with the cane, drawing Chuck in. "Good news! My promotion came through!"

Morgan and Alex came up behind Casey and Gertrude as they chatted with the General. "So he'll get his star?" asked Casey. "How did you manage that?"

"I offered to put one up at the NSA if the CIA didn't think he was worthy," said Beckman. Casey and Gertrude made identical (except for the pitch) grunts of approval.

"Dad, Gertrude," said Alex, and they turned.

"We've got news," said Morgan, nervous and determined.

A few feet away, Chuck looked suspiciously from Carina to Davis and back again. "That's not all your news, is it?" Being taken out of the field, however necessary due to her injury, was hardly something she'd get excited about.

On the other side of the General, Casey glowered at the youngsters as they dithered. "Well? Out with it, moron, we're aging here."

Carina, Davis, Morgan, and Alex all shouted at once, "We're moving in together!" Then the two couples looked at each other in the sudden total silence, and they all said, "You're _what_?"

* * *

"Did he call you 'Aunt Diane'?" asked little Molly, as General Beckman sat eating.

"He did."

"Does that make you my aunt too?"

Well, technically…why not? "You can never have too many aunts," said 'Aunt' Diane. Or nieces.

"This is Rex," said Molly, holding up her dog. Her way of including people.

"Rex is a good name," said Aunt Diane. "I had a tiger once, when I was your age. I named him Spot."

Molly giggled. "That's a silly name for a tiger!"

Beckman leaned in close. "I'll tell you a secret. He was a silly tiger."

* * *

"I have a gift for you, Agent Miller," said Gertrude. She nodded at Carina's hip. "For some actions, like yours, there is no repayment possible, only acts in kind. Casey said this would be best."

The box was heavy, so Davis took it and opened it for her. "A bulletproof vest?" said Carina.

"Much more than that," said Gertrude. "Custom made, with the latest materials, it'll stop anything on the street _tomorrow_."

Carina stroked the material. It even felt like safety. "Thanks, but…I'm leaving the field. I won't need this."

Gertrude smiled, pointing at Davis. "The vest is for him, silly."

* * *

"You're leaving the CIA?" asked Morgan.

Chuck sighed. "I wish I could, buddy, but the Piranha's out of the bag. Beckman had to broker a deal with three agencies, not to mention a few Federal departments that will remain nameless. Hannah's the new Intersect, after a fashion. Or she will be, once she finishes her honeymoon. She and her group are the contact point for all of us, where we'll all, you know, intersect."

"But you don't work for her?" asked Morgan, as Chuck had another crab-cake.

"Nope. Carmichael Industries is a well-known and respected name in the cyber-security arena," said Chuck. Too well known, said any number of Federal agencies, with photos and film footage to back them up. "Casey's going to work for Verbanski, and as payment of our debt to VC, we'll be farming out all the fieldwork to them. We'll be located on VC property, trading intel for physical security, but otherwise CI will be independent, doing contract work for whoever needs it." And was willing to pay his prices. Forty mil would only go so far.

"Balance of power," said Morgan, nodding sagely. "Smart General. Where does Sarah fit into all this?"

"Base commander, with a bit of combat instructor." Still in charge of Chuck's protective detail. "That way Gertrude can get out in the field more."

Morgan smiled. "I _thought_ Casey was grunting happier…"

* * *

"So," said Devon to Carina, in a quiet moment. "You and Davis, huh? That's not because of the, uh…" He gestured at the cane.

"Not entirely," said Carina. "He's smart, though. He knew what this–" she touched her cane "–would mean for me, for us. Knew we'd need to change, and pushed me into it with some creative miscommunication." He tricked her, not necessarily a bad thing. That first Game Night, he knew exactly what she'd meant, as opposed to what she'd _said_. A man with wit, her favorite kind. "He's glad I won't be in danger anymore, though." And thanks to Gertrude, neither would he. Much. "But really, until it heals as much as it's going to, we can't do sex either, so we're doing other things."

"Like talking?"

She looked over to the table, where Davis was refilling her plate with her favorites. "He makes it easy to remember myself, share myself. The true things, like my name."

Devon frowned. "It's not Miller?"

"Nope." _That was for Davis to know, and for no one else to find out. _Carina smiled. "But it's still safest."

* * *

"So here you are," said Emma softly, standing next to her eldest daughter as Sarah stood by the door, surveying her domain, her family. Ellie and Molly watching The Little Mermaid. Her sister-in-law was so much happier, now that the project was over, and words like 'bunker' and 'Chuck' would no longer be used in the same sentence. And speaking of brothers, there was Chuck, finally making good on his bet with Carina, telling her how he'd come to owe Sarah twenty children, with Casey and all of his nearest and dearest laughing as he got to the punchline.

"As long as it's the _right_ twenty," said Gertrude.

The floors were still bare but Sarah's home was full. A normal home, and a normal life.

"Did you ever imagine that the life you chose then, the CIA, would lead you here now?" asked Emma.

Sarah sighed. "The CIA doesn't lead. It orders. It assigns." Like Graham had once assigned her to track down the missing Intersect data. Just a job, in the end, but where the job ended her life began. "Sometimes an assignment can also be an opportunity, and then it's up to me to grab it and hold on. Like Chuck." She ran her fingers over the angular letters they'd carved into the frame that first night. "Like this house. Like–" Suddenly Sarah gasped, dropping the fork onto her plate with a clatter.

"Sarah?" said Emma urgently, getting the attention of all the husbands, medical personnel, and spies in the room. "Are you all right?"

The doctors were fast but Chuck was faster. "Sarah?"

"Chuck!" said Sarah, slapping her plate down on the table as she reached out. Grabbing for him, she pressed their joined hands against her belly. "She kicked!"

* * *

**A/N2 **And this really is the end.

I said there would be no Amnesia plot, and there wasn't, for Sarah. For Vivian it was the best possible outcome.

I have no plans to write any more stories in this or any other fandom at this time, although I had a really neat idea for how seasons three and five were meant to link up. I will instead be focusing on my other projects that have been waiting in the wings until I completed this. I hope some of you have or will check out some of my non-Chuck work as well.

Thanks to all of my many reviewers over the years, steadily growing fewer as time went on, but always a few voices left, even if they were sitting in the back of the theater. While this has always been a Charah story, it's rarely been a fluffy story, and I'm sure some of those who desired fluff have gone away, disappointed. In my mind and in this story Chuck and Sarah have been together since Barstow and always will be, even in those parts of their story that I'm not going to write. (I do have a number of scenes I wish I could have included in this series, such as Casey standing up from his wheelchair in Coup d'Etat, or Chuck throwing himself out the window in Zoom, but that's about it.)

I may not have had the quantity of comments other stories got, or still get, but the comments I got are some of the most thoughtful and insightful I've seen. You guys really pushed me to make the story better, with lots of suggestions and more than a few sudden insights into how it should go. Thank you all. As always, this season will be available as a PDF for anyone who wants it.


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